GIFT   OF 
Prof.    C.   A.   Kofoid 


^= 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2008  with  funding  from 

Microsoft  Corporation 


http://www.archive.org/details/fromoutofwestOOhincrich 


From 

Out  of  the 

West. 


BY 

HENRIETTA  R.  HINCKLEY. 


■ 


*9©5 

MAYHEW    PUBLISHING    COMPANY 

Boston. 


HI 


Copyrighted,  1905 

HENRIETTA  R.  HINCKLEY 

All  rights  reserved 


CONTENT 


CHAPTER. 

PAGE. 

I. 

The  Conspirators. 

i 

II. 

The  Western  Stranger. 

8 

III. 

First  Impressions. 

17 

IV. 

An  Offer  of  Marriage. 

25 

V. 

The  Cowboy  Tells  of  His  Home 

•      31 

VI. 

"The  Royal  Seal." 

38 

VII. 

A  Human  Butterfly.    . 

47 

VIII. 

The  Coaching  Party.  . 

54 

IX. 

A  Mutual  Agreement. 

61 

X. 

A  Beautiful  Intruder. 

68 

XL 

A  Promised  Drive. 

76 

XII. 

The  Plot  Deepens. 

84 

XIII. 

Who  Was  She?    . 

9i 

XIV. 

The  Fortune  Teller. 

100 

XV. 

Christmas  Gifts 

no 

XVI. 

New  Year's  Calls. 

118 

XVII. 

In  The  Toils. 

I25 

XVIII. 

Did  He  Resist  Her? 

135 

XIX. 

The  Home  in  the  West. 

144 

XX. 

A  Mysterious  Invalid. 

X5X 

XXI. 

Dora  Gone.          . 

158 

XXII. 

Philip's  Sister 

166 

XXIII. 

"Tell  Me  My  Offense."     . 

173 

XXIV. 

A  Garden  Party. 

181 

XXV. 

A  Second  Proposal. 

188 

XXVI. 

Saved  From  the  Flames. 

196 

XXVII. 

A  Confession 

203 

XXVIII. 

"I  Am  Unworthy." 

211 

XXIX. 

The  Double  Tragedy. 

220 

XXX. 

Conclusion.          . 

230 

M2S6062 


CHAPTER  I. 

THE  CONSPIRATORS. 

"The  Oriental"  was  the  handsomest  and  most 
luxurious  club  house  in  the  city.  It  was  large,  beautiful- 
ly furnished  and  well  ventilated  by  long  windows  open- 
ing upon  a  roomy  balcony  overlooking  the  park.  The 
privileges  and  enjoyment  of  its  rooms  were  extended  to 
only  a  limited  number  of  wealthy,  aristocratic  young 
men.  There,  one  was  always  sure  of  meeting  congenial 
companions  with  whom  to  pass  away  idle  hours  in 
smoking,  drinking,  card  playing  and  gossip. 

It  was  about  four  o'clock  of  a  lovely  September  day; 
the  air  was  warm  and  balmy;  just  the  day  to  luxuriate 
in  after  a  long,  hot  summer.  Out  on  the  balcony 
several  men  were  smoking;  just  inside,  seated  around  a 
table  on  which  were  wine  and  glasses,  was  a  group  of 
four  young  men  of  that  stamp  seen  in  our  big  cities, 
fast  youths  who  crowd  more  excitement  and  pleasure 
into  one  year  of  their  lives  than  their  fathers  did  in  ten. 
This  furious  race  of  vitality  and  time  leaves  its  impress 
upon  each  face,  in  the  sallow  complexion,  the  bleared 
eyes,  and  the  incessant  demand  for  drink,  or  smoke, 
to  fan  the  dying  embers  into  more  life. 

There  was  Harold  Graham,  young  in  years,  but  old 
in  vice  and  dissipation;  his  life  ruined  by  the  handling 
of  thousands  of  dollars  that  he  had  never  earned;  his 
greatest  ambition  to  be  just  a  little  ahead  of  the  other 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

fellows  in  his  extravagances.  So  his  horses,  yacht,  and 
lavish  expenditure  of  money  were  the  envy  and  admira- 
tion of  his  companions.  To  him  this  was  the  greatest 
satisfaction  the  world  could  give. 

Wallace  Dunlap  was  younger  than  Harold,  a  boyish, 
fun-loving  fellow,  who,  under  the  right  influence,  would 
have  made  a  fine  young  man;  but  with  a  fond  mother, 
fashionable  sisters  and  a  busy  father,  he  was  allowed  to 
drift  about  at  his  will,  and  under  the  influence  and 
tuition  of  Harold  Graham  was  fast  being  dragged  down 
to  his  level. 

Then  there  was  DeVere,  a  Frenchman  about  thirty- 
five  years  of  age,  with  dark,  unfathomable  eyes  and  an 
insinuating,  flattering  manner  that  had  helped  him  to 
gain  admittance  to  "The  Oriental",  although  he  was 
not  generally  liked;  but  he  was  always  ready  to  lend  a 
helping  hand  when  a  fellow  was  "hard  up",  and  even 
if  he  did  ask  high  interest  for  the  favor,  it  was  con- 
venient, and  the  boys  often  called  upon  him  for  tem- 
porary loans;  therefore,  he  was  looked  upon  in  the  light 
of  a  necessary  evil. 

The  other  young  man  was  a  tall,  slim  youth  with  a 
pocketbook  of  larger  dimensions  than  his  brains, — 
an  immaculate  dude  of  the  first  water,  whose  greatest 
agony  was  to  find  a  wrinkle  in  his  perfectly  fitting  coat. 
His  name  was  Adolphus  Carlton. 

These  four  young  men  had  been  playing  cards  for  a 
while;  but  as  the  pile  staked  invariably  found  its  way 
into  DeVere's  pocket,  the  game  grew  monotonous,  and 
they  threw  down  the  cards  in  disgust,  called  for  drinks 
and  lit  their  cigars. 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

"What  did  you  think  of  the  affair  at  Kimble's  last 
night ?"  asked  Harold  Graham,  lazily  puffing  rings  of 
smoke  above  his  head  and  addressing  no  one  in  partic- 
ular. 

"Too  much  of  a  jam  to  suit  me,"  drawled  Adolphus. 
"It  musses  a  fellow  up  so,  don't  you  know.  I  lost  my 
carnation  and  had  my  glasses  knocked  off  twice  before 
I  had  been  there  half  an  hour.  Deuced  poor  taste  to 
have  such  a  crowd,  I  say." 

"Well,"  said  young  Wallace,  "I  had  a  tip-top  time. 
There  were  plenty  of  pretty  girls,  and  the  supper  was 
immense,  especially  the  champagne,"  and  Wallace 
smacked  his  lips.  "  I  tell  you,  Dora  was  stunning.  She 
knows  how  to  dress  to  show  off  those  big  blue  eyes  and 
that  golden  hair  of  hers;  I  couldn't  get  within  speaking 
distance,  she  was  surrounded  by  so  many  admirers.  But 
I  was  content  to  bestow  my  attentions  on  Rose  Hudson; 
she's  a  daisy, — or  a  rose  I  should  say.  If  she  only  had 
brighter  prospects  of  possessing  some  of  this  world's 
goods,  I  should  not  seek  further  for  a  Mrs.  Wallace 
Dunlap;  but  one  must  be  discreet  in  these  days  and  not 
allow  one's  heart  to  run  away  with  one's  head,"  and  he 
threw  back  his  curly  head  with  the  air  of  an  old  sage. 

"Yes,"  said  DeVere,  "I  noticed  how  charming  Miss 
Dora  was  looking  last  evening.  She  is  a  beautiful  girl, 
besides  being  one  of  the  richest  heiresses  in  the  city. 
No  wonder  she  is  surrounded  by  admirers.  But  I 
noticed  that  they  all  made  way  when  the  young  western 
lion  approached,  and  I  also  noticed  the  sparkle  of  wel- 
come in  Miss  Dora's  blue  eyes.  How  true  the  old  say- 
ing is  '  To  him  that  hath  shall  be  given.'    Now  here  are 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

wc  four  left  out  in  the  cold,  while  in  steps  this  western 
cowboy — only  six  weeks  in  the  city — and  seems  likely 
to  capture  our  greatest  heiress.  He  ought  to  be  tarred 
and  feathered  and  sent  back  to  his  western  home  on  a 
rail.  I  should  like  to  apply  the  tar.  He  would  get  a 
liberal  supply,"  and  DeVere's  black  eyes  snapped. 

"  Damn  the  fellow,"  exclaimed  Graham,  striking  the 
table  with  his  fist  so  forcibly  as  to  make  the  glasses 
rattle.  "I  hate  him!  Tar  and  feathers  are  too  good  for 
him.  He  shall  never  win  the  hand  and  fortune  of  Dora 
Hutchinson  if  I  can  prevent  it.  Such  a  cad  as  he  is, — 
doesn't  drink  or  play,  thinks  smoking  injurious,  and 
looks  reproachful  when  a  fellow  swears  a  little.  Bah 
how  I  despise  him.  How  I  long  to  humiliate  him,  to 
bring  him  down  from  his  lofty  pedestal  of  virtue.  I 
would  give  my  fortune  to  be  able  to  break  down  that 
calm,  sanctimonious  superiority  of  his." 

"Well,  don't  you  attempt  it  single-handed,  is  my  ad- 
vice," said  Wallace.  "He  could  knock  the  spots  out  of 
you." 

"Aw,  yes,  he  would  be  a  devil  of  a  fellow  to  tackle, 
don't  you  know,"  drawled  Adolphus. 

"I  think  I  could  suggest  a  better  way  to  get  at  a  man 
of  his  caliber,"  said  DeVere,  in  his  cool,  even  tones; 
"initiate  him  into  city  life.  He  is  nothing  but  an  over- 
grown baby  now.  He  has  always  lived  on  a  western 
farm,  isolated  from  the  world  and  its  ways.  He  doesn't 
play  because  he  doesn't  know  how.  Invite  him  to  take 
a  friendly  hand;  he  will  soon  learn  that  to  be  friendly 
and  a  gentleman,  he  must  drink.  He  only  needs  an  en- 
couraging hand  to  guide  him.    And,  mark  my  words, 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

when  that  calm,  even  temperament  of  his  once  gets 
aroused,  there  will  be  no  holding  him  back.  He  will 
drink  to  the  dregs  and  go  to  the  devil  fast  enough  to  suit 
even  you,"  and  DeVere  leaned  back  in  his  chair  with 
an  air  of  conviction  beyond  dispute. 

"What  I  don't  like  about  him,"  said  Adolphus, 
brushing  a  speck  of  dust  off  his  patent  leathers,  "is  his 
dress.  Why,  don't  you  know,  his  coat  last  night  set 
better  than  mine,  damned  if  it  didn't.  I  wonder  if  he 
pads  his  shoulders?  It  was  done  mighty  well,  if  he 
does.  I  must  tell  my  tailor  to  put  an  extra  sheet  on  that 
left  of  mine.  Doesn't  it  droop  just  a  trifle,  boys  ?"  and 
he  looked  anxiously  at  them. 

"You're  an  inch  out  of  plumb,"  replied  Wallace,  who 
laughed  heartily  as  Adolphus  rushed  to  the  mirror, 
consternation  on  his  pale,  thin  face. 

"Oh,  now  you're  codding  me.  I  wish  you  wouldn't, 
don't  you  know.  It  makes  my  heart  beat  awfully," 
and  he  pressed  his  slender  white  hands  over  that  region 
to  still  its  agitation. 

"What  you  say  is  sensible  enough  when  applied  to 
any  other  man  but  Philip  Manning,"  said  Graham,  in 
reply  to  DeVere's  suggestion.  "I  think  he  has  suffi- 
cient strength  of  will  to  resist  all  such  influences.  There 
is  only  one  way  such  a  man's  downfall  can  be  accom- 
plished, and  that  is  through  a  woman." 

"I  fail  to  catch  your  meaning,"  said  DeVere. 
"Manning  is  already  in  love  with  Miss  Hutchinson, 
and  according  to  appearances  she  is  willing  to  bestow 
upon  him  her  heart  and  hand  whenever  he  asks  for 
them.    She  would  never  effect  his  downfall,  and  while 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

he  is  in  love  with  her,  he  is  safe  from  any  other  woman's 
charms.     So  I  don't  catch  the  drift  of  your  remarks." 

"Well,  this  is  my  meaning.  There  are  temptations 
that  come  to  a  man  in  so  subtle  and  blind  a  form,  work- 
ing their  spell  unknown  to  their  victim,  that  he  uncon- 
sciously drifts  to  his  doom.  Drunken  with  the  perfume 
of  a  flower,  a  strain  of  music,  or  a  bit  of  moonshine;  a 
caress  from  a  soft,  white  arm,  a  kiss  from  dewy  lips,  a 
gaze  into  eyes  luminous  with  love, — the  blood  leaps, 
and  the  world  is  forgotten — all  for  love." 

"By  George,  Harold,  I  never  knew  you  were  so 
poetical  before.  But  what  has  all  this  love  rapsody  got 
to  do  with  Philip  Manning?"  asked  Wallace. 

"Well,  it  may  mean  much,  and  it  may  mean  little;  but 
I  have  vowed  to  crush  Philip  Manning,  if  such  a  thing 
is  possible,  and  make  him  an  object  of  scorn  in  Dora 
Hutchinson's  eyes." 

"Whew,  how  you  do  hate  that  fellow.  What  has  he 
ever  done  to  you  ?  I  think  he  is  a  nice  sort  of  a  chap — 
a  trifle  slow,  to  be  sure,  but  I  see  no  occasion  for  your 
high  tragedy  airs  toward  him." 

"I'll  tell  you  why  I  hate  him,"  replied  Graham, 
through  his  teeth.  "I  love  Dora  Hutchinson,  and  be- 
fore his  coming  I  had  every  hope  of  winning  her;  but 
since  he  has  entered  the  field,  she  has  grown  cold  and 
indifferent  to  me,  while  she  bestows  her  smiles  upon 
this  young  upstart.  Who  is  he?  Who  was  his  father? 
How  did  he  come  by  the  money  he  spends  so  freely? 
Not  a  day  passes  but  some  act  of  his  sets  me  in  a  rage. 
Only  yesterday  he  bought  a  horse  I  was  negotiating  for. 
I  had  not  clinched  the  bargain,  and  in  steps  Manning, 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

offers  an  extra  hundred,  and  gets  the  horse.  So  he 
expects  to  do  with  Dora  Hutchinson;  but  he  shall  not 
have  her  if  I  have  to  move  heaven  and  hell  to  prevent 
him." 

"Well,  well,  you  are  hard  hit,"  ejaculated  Wallace. 
"Thank  the  Lord  I'm  not  the  kind  that  takes  the 
disease  so  hard.  I  divide  my  affections  among  so  many 
that  when  one  goes  back  on  me  it  doesn't  cut  so  deep; 
for  if  one  won't,  another  will.  Every  Jack  has  his  Jill. 
Well,  ta,  ta,  old  man.  I  promised  the  girls  I  would 
take  them  to  Martin's.    I  suppose  you  will  all  be  there." 

Adolphus  arose  and,  after  a  farewell  glance  in  the 
mirror  to  assure  himself  that  he  was  in  perfect  order, 
joined  Wallace  and  they  passed  out  leaving  Graham 
and  DeVere  together. 

"I  think  I  understand  your  meaning  now,"  said 
DeVere,  "but  how  you  are  going  to  accomplish  such  a 
scheme,  I  cannot  see  quite  clearly.  Such  a  siren  as  your 
remarks  suggest  would  have  no  show  with  Manning. 
He  would  put  her  aside  with  horror  and  disgust.  I 
have  asked  him  several  times  to  accompany  me  back 
of  the  scenes  at  the  'La  Favorita,'  but  he  always  re- 
fuses." H 

"I  have  no  settled  plans  yet,"  replied  Graham;  "but 
I  assure  you  I  shall  give  as  much  attention  and  thought 
to  the  downfall  of  Philip  Manning  as  ever  did  an  evan- 
gelist to  the  saving  of  a  soul." 


CHAPTER  II. 

THE  WESTERN  STRANGER. 

Dora  Hutchinson  was  the  beautiful  and  idolized 
daughter  of  wealthy  parents.  Money  had  been  lavishly 
spent  upon  her  education  and  accomplishments.  So 
much  adoration  would  have  turned  the  head  of  many  a 
young  girl;  but  Dora  was  unspoiled.  She  repaid  her 
parents*  love  and  care  with  a  love  and  devotion  equal  to 
their  own.  She  was  a  queen  in  society  by  right  of 
wealth,  beauty  and  accomplishments,  with  plenty  of 
admirers  and  would-be  lovers,  but  as  yet  Dora  was  fancy 
free.  She  had  many  gentlemen  friends,  but  always 
adroitly  warded  off  declarations  of  love. 

Harold  Graham  had  been  the  nearest  approach  to  a 
lover.  Dora  had  known  him  from  childhood.  The 
families  had  always  been  friendly  and  Harold  seemed 
almost  like  a  brother;  and  when  on  several  occasions 
he  had  spoken  in  warmer  tones  she  had  not  checked 
him.  True,  she  had  heard  some  stories  of  wild  ways, 
but  all  young  men  must  sow  their  wild  oats,  she  had 
heard,  and  Harold  Graham  seemed  no  worse  than  the 
others.  So  she  gave  little  credence  to  the  rumors.  He 
was  handsome,  entertaining  and  wealthy,  of  good 
family  and  her  parents  liked  him;  what  more  could  she 
wish  for?  So  few  love  marriages  had  come  under  her 
observation  that  she  doubted  their  existence  outside  of 
novels.     Of  course,  it  would  be  delightful  to  be  in  love 

8 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

with  one's  intended  husband;  but  there  seemed  to  be 
little  likelihood  of  it  in  her  case.  She  liked  many,  but 
loved  none.  "All  nice  men,  like  papa,  are  married," 
she  said,  "and  the  young  men  of  today  don't  seem 
worth  having." 

One  morning,  at  the  breakfast  table,  Mr.  Hutchinson 
informed  his  wife  and  daughter  that  he  would  bring  a 
stranger  home  to  dinner  with  him,  a  young  man  from 
the  West  who  had  brought  a  letter  of  introduction  from 
a  mutual  friend,  who  had  known  the  young  man  and 
his  family  for  years.  "He  gives  him  a  high  recom- 
mendation,— says  he  is  a  model  young  man,  one  I  need 
not  fear  to  introduce  into  any  society.  So  I  shall  make 
him  acquainted  with  my  family  first,  then  you  women 
folks  can  take  charge  of  him  and  see  that  he  is  properly 
passed  around,"  and  he  laughed  and  winked  at  his 
daughter. 

"Now,  papa,"  cried  Dora,  in  dismay,  "you  don't 
know  what  you  are  asking.  Do  you  expect  me  to 
chaperon  a  great  rough  cowboy  from  the  West?  I 
shouldn't  wonder  if  he  wore  his  hair  to  his  shoulders, 
top-boots,  and  a  belt  full  of  pistols." 

"Now,  Dora,  I  know  you  don't  mean  what  you  say. 
You  are  too  sensible  to  believe,  as  many  do,  that  anyone 
from  the  West  must  necessarily  be  rough  and  dress  out- 
landishly.  True,  I  have  not  seen  this  young  man  yet, 
but  I  know  I  can  trust  my  friend  who  vouches  for  him 
and,  as  I  tell  you,  he  gave  him  a  splendid  recommenda- 
tion. He  may  not  be  quite  up  to  all  the  city  airs  and 
vices;  but  he  will  be  a  better  man  for  that,  in  my  estima- 
tion.   He  has  always  lived  on  a  farm  or  ranch,  and,  I 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

imagine,  knows  little  of  city  life;  but  it  won't  take  him 
long  to  learn.  Oh,  by  the  way,  I  forgot  to  mention  one 
very  important  item,  you  need  have  no  fear  but  that 
society  will  open  wide  her  doors  and  arms  to  him — even 
if  he  should  wear  long  hair  and  top-boots, — he  is  a 
millionaire.  An  uncle  has  died  and  left  him  a  gold 
mine  and  other  property.  So  he  will  be  a  prize  of  the 
first  magnitude." 

"Oh,  papa,  that  changes  the  task  to  a  delightful 
pleasure.  I  do  hope  he  is  big  and  nice  looking.  It  will 
be  way  ahead  of  bringing  out  a  debutante.  Just  imag- 
ine how  the  girls  will  envy  me,  —  and  the  jealousy  of 
the  men.  Oh,  it  will  be  such  fun,"  and  her  eyes 
sparkled  mischievously. 

"You'll  have  to  put  a  collar  and  chain  on  him,  or  he 
will  get  away  from  you,"  said  her  father,  with  a  twinkle 
in  his  eye.  "  He  will  be  besieged  by  all  the  matrons  with 
marriageable  daughters  and  by  the  daughters  them- 
selves." 

"Oh,  I  shall  not  try  to  keep  him  against  his  will;  I 
don't  think  my  interest  will  carry  me  that  far,"  and  she 
pouted  charmingly  and  frowned  at  her  father,  the 
smiles  chasing  the  frowns  away  as  her  father  shook  his 
finger  at  her. 

Mrs.  Hutchinson  had  been  a  silent  listener  to  the 
conversation. 

"What  is  this  young  man's  name?"  she  now 
asked. 

"Philip  Manning,"  replied  her  husband. 

"Well,  we  will  make  him  welcome.  I  always  feel 
sorry  for  anyone  who  has  to  go  among  strangers.    How 


10 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

long  will  he  remain  in  the  city,  and  what  brings  him 
here?" 

"  I  believe  his  uncle  left  him  some  real  estate  here  that 
he  wishes  to  look  up." 

Dora  selected  a  carnation  from  a  vase  on  the  table 
and  pinned  it  on  her  father's  coat.  Following  him  to  the 
door,  she  said,  "I  shall  be  looking  forward  all  day  to 
your  return  with  the  Westerner/ '  and  she  kissed  him 
fondly.  Returning  to  her  mother,  she  began  to  plan  the 
evening's  entertainment  for  the  young  stranger. 

"I  will  ask  Harold  to  stop  in  and  be  introduced,  and 
I  will  also  send  a  note  of  invitation  to  the  Dunlaps. 
Others  will  be  sure  to  drop  in,  so  we  will  not  invite  any 
more,  a  larger  crowd  might  embarrass  him.  Besides, 
I  want  to  see  what  he  is  like  before  I  commence  my 
chaperonage.  Now  I  must  go  and  tell  Aunt  Helen  all 
about  it,"  and  away  ran  Dora  up  the  stairs. 

At  her  aunt's  dcor  she  knocked  softly,  and  in  answer 
to  a  gentle  voice  she  entered  a  large,  beautiful  room, 
furnished  with  taste  and  elegance.  There  were  four 
windows;  two  facing  the  avenue  upon  which  the  house 
fronted,  the  other  two  looking  out  upon  the  lovely 
grounds  at  thj  side  of  the  house.  At  one  of  these 
windows,  resting  in  an  invalid's  reclining  chair,  was  a 
pale,  delicate  woman,  Dora's  Aunt  Helen.  For  several 
years  she  had  been  confined  to  her  chair  or  bed  with  a 
spinal  affection.  She  was  made  welcome  and  happy  in 
her  brother's  beautiful  home  by  his  wife  and  daughter. 
Every  day  brought  Dora  to  her  side  with  fruit  and 
flowers,  or  a  new  book, — anything  that  she  thought 
would  give  pleasure  to  the  patient  invalid.    She  always 


ii 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

came  for  her  aunt's  approval  when  arrayed  in  her  dainty 
evening  dress;  and  so  she  came  now  with  her  piece  of 
news. 

" I  wonder  if  he  is  used  to  society,"  mused  Dora.  "I 
think  not,  if  he  has  been  on  a  farm  all  his  life.  I  do  hope 
he  is  not  uncultured  and  awkward.  If  he  is,  I  shall 
not  know  what  to  do  with  him,  unless  I  send  him  to 
school,"  and  she  laughed  merrily. 

"  Do  not  worry,  my  dear.  Just  wait  and  see,"  said 
her  aunt. 

Dora  was  anxious  to  make  a  favorable  impression 
upon  the  young  stranger  and  took  more  time  over  her 
toilette  that  evening  than  she  had  ever  done  for  a  ball. 
"How  foolish  I  am,"  she  exclaimed  aloud.  "I  act  as 
though  I  were  going  to  meet  a  lover  instead  of  a  perfect 
stranger.  I  don't  understand  myself.  My  heart  beats 
so  and  I  feel  nervous.  I  will  go  and  show  myself  to 
auntie;  she  will  sooth  me  with  her  sweet,  calm  way." 
So  she  entered  her  aunt's  room  and  stood  before  her,  a 
vision  of  youth  and  beauty. 

"How  lovely  you  look,  my  darling,"  exclaimed  her 
aunt.  "I  am  afraid  you  are  preparing  to  play  sad 
havoc  with  the  heart  of  the  young  Westerner." 

"Now,  Aunt  Helen,  you  know  better.  I  want  to 
make  a  good  impression,  of  course;  but  he  may  have 
left  his  heart  behind  him  you  know." 

"  I  shall  be  anxious  to  hear  all  about  him  in  the  morn- 
ing, so  come  up  early.  I  shall  be  looking  for  you,"  and 
she  kissed  her  niece  fondly. 

Dora  descended  to  the  drawing  room  and  joined  her 
mother,  and  soon  they  heard  voices  in  the  hall.    Dora's 


12 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

heart  gave  a  nervous  throb  that  made  her  angry  with 
herself;  outwardly,  however,  she  was  cool  and  calm. 
Her  father  entered,  followed  by  a  tall,  broad-shouldered 
young  man.  Instead  of  belt  and  top-boots,  he  wore  the 
conventional  evening  dress  suit,  which  fitted  his  fine 
form  to  perfection.  His  hair  was  thick  and  wavy,  a 
rich,  dark  brown;  his  eyes  were  brown;  soft  and  tender 
like  a  woman's.  The  mouth  was  firm  and  well  formed; 
the  chin  broad  and  full,  cleft  by  a  slight  dimple;  when 
he  smiled  and  displayed  his  white,  even  teeth,  one  would 
have  called  him  a  fine  looking  man.  To  Dora  he  was  a 
revelation,  for  she  had  imagined  him  so  different.  She 
felt  shy  and  embarrassed  for  the  first  time  in  the  presence 
of  a  gentleman. 

After  presenting  his  wife,  Mr.  Hutchinson  said,  "This 
is  my  daughter  Dora.  She  will  make  you  acquainted 
with  the  young  folks,  and  you  will  feel  at  home  with  us 
in  a  short  time." 

"I  shall  be  very  grateful  to  Miss  Hutchinson,"  he 
replied,  as  he  took  the  little  white  hand  she  extended. 
He  seemed  perfectly  at  ease,  much  more  so  than  Dora, 
who  generally  had  a  piquant  answer  for  her  gendemen 
friends.  She  murmured  some  reply,  she  hardly  knew 
what,  when  Wallace  Dunlap  and  his  sisters  were  an- 
nounced. This  broke  the  spell  and  she  was  once  more 
her  own  gracious  self,  introducing  Mr.  Manning  to  her 
friends.  Soon  they  were  all  chatting  away  like  old 
acquaintances. 

Jennie  Dunlap  seized  the  first  opportunity  to  say  to 
her  friend,  "Why,  Dora,  he  is  a  perfect  Apollo.  How 
awfully  good  of  you  to  ask  us  over  to  meet  him.-   I  am 


!3 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 


just  dead  in  love  with  him  already.  Just  tell  me  he  is 
rich  and  I  will  bless  you." 

"Yes,  he  is  rich,  you  silly  girl,"  replied  Dora,  a  little 
impatiently. 

Soon  dinner  was  announced  and  they  proceeded  to 
the  dining  room.  Here,  also,  Dora  noticed,  by  covert 
glances,  that  the  western  stranger  seemed  perfectly  at 
home  and  was  familiar  with  every  detail  of  table  eti- 
quette. She  had  prepared  herself  to  see  him  eat  with 
his  knife,  and  perhaps  drink  from  his  finger-bowl. 

During  the  evening  there  were  several  callers.  All 
welcomed  the  young  stranger  cordially,  with  the  excep- 
tion of  Harold  Graham,  who  looked  upon  him  as  an 
interloper  and  a  possible  rival.  The  evening  passed 
pleasantly  with  music  and  gay  talk. 

When  the  guests  had  all  departed,  Dora  turned  to  her 
father  and  asked,  "Why  did  you  not  invite  Mr.  Manning 
to  stop  with  us?" 

"I  did  ask  him,"  replied  her  father,  "but  he  has 
secured  rooms  entirely  to  his  satisfaction  at  the  'Arling- 
ton* and  preferred  to  go  right  there.  How  did  you  like 
him,  Dora?    Did  he  come  up  to  your  expectations?" 

"Well,"  said  Dora,  "I  must  admit  he  was  not  at  all 
what  I  expected.  I  should  never  dream  he  was  just 
from  the  farm.  Where  did  he  get  that  ease  of  manner  ? 
I  don't  understand  it,"  and  a  little  perplexed  look  ap- 
peared on  her  white  brow. 

"I  think  perhaps  he  may  have  learned  all  that  by 
being  with  his  uncle,  who  was  very  wealthy  and  must 
have  moved  in  good  society.  He  lived  in  Chicago, 
you  know." 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

"  Oh,  that  accounts  for  it,"  said  Dora,  her  face  clear- 
ing. "  I  never  thought  of  that.  He  is  going  to  ride  with 
mamma  and  me  tomorrow.  We  are  going  to  show  him 
the  city,  and  in  the  evening  he  will  go  with  us  to  Mrs. 
Bradley's  reception.  After  that  he  will  have  invitations 
enough  to  keep  him  going.  His  good  looks  and  his 
wealth  will  make  him  quite  an  attraction.  I  shall  not 
have  charge  of  him  very  long,"  and  she  sighed  un- 
consciously. 

That  night  in  the  privacy  of  their  own  room,  Mr. 
Hutchinson  said  to  his  wife,  "How  did  you  like  the 
young  man  from  the  West?" 

"I  took  a  decided  fancy  to  him,"  she  replied.  "He 
impresses  one  as  being  so  manly  and  upright.  I  should 
be  proud  of  a  son  like  him." 

"There,  Mary,  you  have  hit  the  nail  on  the  head. 
That  is  my  opinion  exactly.  He  would  be  a  son  to  be 
proud  of,  and  why  not?  Perhaps  he  may  be  some 
day,  if  all  goes  well." 

"Oh,  I  did  not  mean  that,"  said  Mrs.  Hutchinson, 
in  a  somewhat  startled  voice. 

"Well,"  said  Mr.  Hutchinson,  emphatically,  "if  I 
like  that  young  man  on  further  acquaintance  as  well  as 
I  do  now,  he  shall  be  my  son  whenever  he  wants  to." 

"I  always  thought  you  favored  Harold  Graham," 
replied  his  wife. 

"I  am  not  so  sure  that  Harold  is  good  enough  for  our 
Dora.  I  hear  a  good  many  stories  about  his  wild  ways. 
I  won't  have  her  marry  anyone  who  is  likely  to  make 
her  miserable,  money  or  no  money.  Dora  will  probably 
shape  things  to  suit  herself.    We  have  always  allowed 


i5 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

her  to  have  her  own  way  and  she  has  never  gone  against 
our  wishes  yet;  so  we  will  trust  to  her  good  sense  to 
select  a  proper  husband." 


ro 


CHAPTER  in. 

FIRST  IMPRESSIONS. 

The  next  morning  Dora  sought  her  Aunt  Helen's 
room  at  a  much  earlier  hour  than  was  her  custom,  so 
eager  was  she  to  tell  her  about  the  young  stranger. 
Aunt  Helen  was  as  interested  to  hear  as  Dora  was  to 
tell.  So,  seated  on  a  low  stool,  her  arms  resting  on  her 
aunt's  lap,  her  lovely  face  lit  up  with  animation  and 
pleasure,  Dora  related  every  event  of  the  previous 
evening,  from  the  moment  Manning  entered  the  room 
with  her  father  to  his  pleasant  *  Good  night." 

Aunt  Helen  watched  the  young  girPs  face,  and  drew 
her  own  conclusions,  as  she  saw  the  blue  eyes  sparkle 
and  the  lovely  flush  upon  the  dimpled  cheeks,  as  she 
described  the  young  stranger  with  more  enthusiasm  than 
she  had  ever  seen  her  exhibit  about  any  other  gentleman. 

11 1  shall  be  anxious  to  see  him,"  said  her  aunt.  "  You 
must  bring  him  to  call  on  me  soon.  I  sincerely  hope  he 
will  be  all  he  appears  to  be  on  so  short  an  acquaintance. 
Be  careful,  my  darling;  don't  get  too  deeply  interested 
in  the  handsome  young  Westerner  until  you  have  proved 
him  to  be  pure  gold." 

"Now,  auntie,"  cried  Dora,  with  a  blush  and  a  pout, 
"you  talk  as  though  I  were  going  to  fall  right  in  love 
with  him,  just  because  he  is  handsome  and  interesting. 
I  guess  I  have  seen  handsome  men  before,  and  not  lost 
my  heart  either." 


i7 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

"Well,  well,  my  darling,  I  have  known  such  cases  as 
love  at  first  sight,  and  it's  all  right,  nothing  to  be 
ashamed  of;  only  I  am  so  anxious  that  the  man  who 
wins  my  Dora's  heart  shall  be  the  right  one  and  no 
mistake." 

Dora  laughed  and  sprang  to  her  feet.  "  I  must  leave 
you  now,  Aunt  Helen.  I  expect  Mr.  Manning  will 
make  us  an  early  call,  and  I  have  some  new  music  I  wish 
to  practice.  I  will  run  in  again  before  we  go  to  drive," 
and  gaily  kissing  her  hand  to  her  aunt,  she  skipped  out 
of  the  room,  followed  by  the  loving  glance  of  the  invalid. 

Dora  possessed  a  sweet  soprano  voice  and  always 
devoted  some  portion  of  the  morning  to  practice.  Her 
clear  young  voice  was  particularly  joyous  this  morning 
as  she  trilled  and  warbled  the  new  piece  Harold  had 
brought  her  last  evening,  and  the  time  passed  quickly. 
She  had  intended  to  make  a  charming  toilette  before 
Mr.  Manning  should  call,  but  what  was  her  dismay 
when  the  door  was  thrown  open  and  Mr.  Manning  an- 
nounced. She  did  not  know  how  charming  and  girlish 
she  looked  in  her  dainty  white  morning  dress  and  her 
golden  hair  simply  coiled  and  held  with  a  pearl  comb. 

She  arose  in  some  confusion,  but  Philip  advanced 
with  ease,  his  face  lit  up  with  pleasure,  and  begged  she 
would  keep  her  seat  and  continue  to  sing. 

"I  heard  you  singing  as  I  came  in,  and  instead  of 
stopping  in  the  drawing  room  to  await  your  coming,  I 
asked  the  footman  to  show  me  to  the  music  room.  I 
hope  you  will  pardon  me.  My  only  excuse  is  that  I 
am  very  fond  of  music,  and  nothing  would  give  me 
greater  pleasure  than  to  listen  to  you." 

18 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

How  young,  almost  boyish,  he  looked  this  morning; 
his  complexion  was  so  fresh,  his  soft  brown  eyes  so 
bright  and  sparkling.  How  different  from  the  languid, 
young  city  dudes  with  their  sallow  skin  and  bleared 
eyes.  This  young  man  looked  like  a  young  Apollo, 
fresh  from  a  bath  of  mountain  dew.  Dora  noticed  the 
difference,  and  her  heart  beat  with  admiration  and 
pleasure.  His  coming  was  like  a  draught  of  new  wine, 
exhilarating  and  life-giving.  Dora  was  conscious  of  a 
desire  to  clasp  her  arms  about  his  strong  white  neck  and 
welcome  him  with  a  kiss. 

With  an  almost  hysterical  laugh,  she  sank  into  her 
chair  and,  controlling  her  strange  emotion,  asked  if  he 
could  sing. 

"Yes,  I  sing  a  little,"  he  replied,  "but  I  am  not  up 
to  date.  All  the  songs  I  know  are  old-fashioned  ballads, 
college  glees,  and  hymns." 

He  was  so  frank  and  unconventional,  this  young  man 
from  the  West,  that  Dora  felt  she  must  have  known  him 
all  her  life.  They  were  soon  singing  and  enjoying  them- 
selves as  only  two  young,  happy,  congenial  people  can. 
Philip  had  a  fine  baritone  that  blended  harmoniously 
with  Dora's  sweet  voice.  True,  she  had  to  guide  and 
correct  him  many  times,  as  he  was  not  familiar  with  the 
music  she  sang.  They  laughed  over  the  blunders  and 
tried  again.  The  brown  wavy  hair  bent  over  the  golden 
head,  blue  eyes  and  brown  exchanging  merry  glances. 
The  warm,  morning  light  shone  into  the  room,  gilding 
all  with  its  golden  rays.  The  breath  of  roses  perfumed 
the  air,  and  two  young  hearts  melted  and  glowed  with 
love's  first  passion. 


19 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

After  lunch  Mrs.  Hutchinson  entertained  the  guest, 
while  Dora  arrayed  herself  in  a  charming  carriage 
costume.  As  the  carriage  was  brought  to  the  door  Aunt 
Helen  pressed  her  pale  cheeks  against  the  window  pane, 
and  watched  eagerly  as  Philip  Manning  handed  her 
beautiful  niece  into  the  stylish  turnout,  and  then 
tenderly  helped  the  mother.  "How  handsome  he  is," 
she  thought,  "how  strong  and  tender  he  looks.  How 
safe  and  secure  one  would  feel  in  such  arms.  Oh,  to  be 
young  and  strong!  What  happiness!"  She  leaned 
back  in  her  chair,  and  the  tears  stole  down  her  pale 
cheeks. 

How  Dora  enjoyed  that  ride.  She  met  many  friends 
and  acquaintances,  and  noted  the  glances  of  inquiry  and 
admiration  directed  toward  the  handsome  young 
stranger  at  her  side.  She  felt  much  as  the  mother  duck 
must  have  felt  when  she  found  her  ugly  duckling 
changed  into  a  beautiful  swan.  Her  western  cowboy 
had  changed  into  a  prince,  and  she  was  very  happy. 

Harold  Graham  passed  their  carriage.  A  stiff  bow  was 
all  he  vouchsafed  to  Manning,  and  a  look  of  reproach 
and  anger  was  mingled  with  the  obsequious  bow  he  gave 
Dora.  Glancing  up,  and  catching  the  quizzical,  laugh- 
ing  glance  in  Philip's  eyes,  she  blushed  -and  averted 
her  face. 

After  they  had  left  the  young  man  at  his  hotel  Mrs. 
Hutchinson  was  very  profuse  in  her  expressions  of  liking 
for  Mr.  Manning,  and  she  sang  his  praises  all  the  way 
home.  Dora  only  responded  with  smiles,  but  there 
was  a  tender  light  in  her  blue  eyes  that  had  never  been 
there  before. 


20 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

Soon  after  returning  home,  Dora  went  to  her  aunt's 
room.  "Did  you  see  him,  auntie?"  she  enquired, 
eagerly.  "How  did  you  like  him?  Don't  you  think 
him  handsome?" 

Aunt  Helen  took  the  sweet  face  between  her  hands 
and  kissed  it  tenderly.  She  gazed  down  deep  into  the 
blue  eyes,  and  what  she  saw  there  made  her  sigh  and 
exclaim,  "God  bless  you,  my  child!" 

That  evening  Dora  looked  very  lovely  in  her  evening 
dress  of  white  silk,  trimmed  with  chiffon,  in  which 
nestled  violets  as  blue  as  her  eyes.  She  wore  no  jewels, 
only  violets  crowned  her  hair,  and  nestled  on  her  snowy 
bosom. 

As  she  entered  the  drawing  room,  where  Philip 
Manning  awaited  her,  she  quite  startled  him  with  her 
beauty.  He  gazed  upon  her  as  though  she  was  an 
apparition  from  some  remote  sphere  of  which  he  had  no 
knowledge.  This  morning  she  had  been  a  sweet, 
simple  girl  who  had  sung  his  heart  away;  in  the  after- 
noon she  had  been  a  very  stylish  young  lady,  of  whom 
he  had  been  somewhat  in  awe ;  but  this  beautiful  vision 
in  white,  that  stood  before  him  now,  must  surely  be  a 
creature  from  some  celestial  sphere,  not  of  earth, 
earthy. 

Dora  smiled  and  blushed,  as  she  read  the  admiration 
in  his  fervent  glance.  "How  do  I  look?  Will  I  pass 
in  the  crowd?"  she  asked,  merrily. 

"You  look  like  an  angel,"  he  cried,  in  his  boyish,  im- 
pulsive way. 

"Oh  fie!  Mr.  Manning,  angels  don't  go  to  recep- 
tions." 


ai 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

"Now,  Miss  Hutchinson,  I  am  going  to  ask  you  the 
same  question  you  did  me.  How  do  I  look?  Will  I 
pass  in  the  crowd  ?  You  know  I  am  only  a  backwoods- 
man, and  have  never  been  in  society  much.  Have  I 
everything  in  regulation  trim  ?  Is  there  anything  lack- 
ing?   Tell  me  honestly,  am  I  all  right?" 

He  spoke  so  anxiously  and  so  seriously  that  Dora 
laughed  aloud.  "Well,  Mr.  Manning,  I  cannot  call 
you  an  angel  as  you  did  me;  but  I  assure  you  that  you 
have  nothing  to  fear  so  far  as  personal  appearance  goes. 
The  only  thing  I  see  lacking  is  a  boutonniere,  and  I  can 
supply  that." 

She  took  a  little  bunch  of  violets  from  her  belt  and 
pinned  them  upon  his  coat.  He  felt  like  kissing  the 
little  white  hands,  that  hovered  so  near  his  face.  She 
did  not  raise  her  eyes  while  she  performed  this  office, 
but  when  she  had  finished,  she  stepped  back  and  sur- 
veyed her  work  with  great  satisfaction. 

It  is  needless  to  say  that  Philip  Manning  was  the  lion 
of  the  evening.  His  handsome  face  and  fine  form,  to- 
gether with  the  report  of  his  great  wealth,  were  a  suffi- 
cient passport.  Society  received  him  with  open  arms. 
He  was  just  a  trifle  embarrassed  at  so  much  adulation, 
as  he  was  unaccustomed  to  it.  He  had  not  been  a  rich 
man  long  enough  yet  to  get  used  to  the  homage  wealth 
brings. 

Dora  noticed  with  pardonable  pleasure  that  when 
separated  from  her  by  the  crowd,  or  surrounded  by 
people  anxious  to  make  the  acquaintance  of  the  western 
millionaire,  his  eyes  would  turn  toward  her  wistfully, 
and  as  soon  as  he  could  get  away,  he  would  steal  back 


22 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

to  her  side;  and  she  always  welcomed  him  with  a  smile. 

"Why  are  you  not  dancing?"  she  inquired  once. 
" Shall  I  introduce  you  to  some  pretty  girls?" 

"No,  pray  don't,"  he  implored;  "I  cannot  dance. 
My  education  in  that  line  has  been  sadly  neglected." 

"You  mean  to  say  that  you  cannot  dance!"  Dora  ex- 
claimed, with  wide-opened  eyes  of  astonishment.  "I 
thought  everybody  danced — that  is,  I  mean  all  young 
people." 

"No,  I  cannot  dance,"  he  replied,  with  such  a  crest- 
fallen air  that  Dora  laughed. 

"Don't  look  so  woful,"  she  said.  "It  is  no  crime 
not  to  know  how  to  dance.  You  can  learn  now.  I  will 
teach  you." 

"That  would  be  delightful,"  he  replied,  brightening 
up,  "but  I  should  never  want  to  dance  with  anyone  but 
my  teacher." 

"Oh,  you  could  not  do  that,"  said  Dora,  laughing. 

"Then  I  won't  learn,"  he  persisted.  " But  seriously, 
Miss  Hutchinson,  I  never  thought  I  should  care  to 
dance.  It  looks  silly  to  me,  to  see  folks  hopping  about 
pulling  each  other  around,  getting  hot,  and  stepping  on 
dresses.    I  think  I  shall  be  contented  to  look  on." 

"Now,  Mr.  Manning,  that  is  the  first  foolish  speech  I 
have  heard  you  make.  Good  dancers  do  not  pull  each 
other  around;  it  is  a  very  graceful  accomplishment.  I 
love  to  dance,  and  I  am  sure  I  don't  do  that  way." 

"No,  I  know  you  wouldn't,  but  most  of  the  others 
do." 

Dora  had  to  laugh  at  his  persistence.  "Then  you 
won't  learn  to  dance?"  she  asked. 


23 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

"Yes,  I'll  learn,  if  you  will  teach  me,  but  I  will  only 
dance  with  you.11 

"Well,  I  don't  know  as  I  shall  agree  to  that,  but  we 
will  discuss  the  question  at  some  future  day.  Perhaps 
you  will  change  your  mind." 

Just  at  that  moment  Harold  Graham  claimed  her 
hand  for  the  next  dance,  and  as  she  left  Philip's  side 
she  whispered,  mischievously,  "Watch  now  and  see  if 
Mr.  Graham  tears  my  dress." 


CHAPTER  IV. 

AN  OFFER  OF  MARRIAGE. 

At  the  breakfast  table  the  next  morning,  the  party 
of  the  previous  evening  was  duly  discussed. 

"And  how  did  our  young  friend  enjoy  himself  ?" 
asked  Mr.  Hutchinson. 

"I  don't  think  Mr.  Manning  cares  particularly  for 
society,"  replied  Dora;  "and  really,  papa,  although  I 
enjoyed  myself  very  much  last  evening,  there  were  many 
things  done  and  said  that  would  shock  one  not  accus- 
tomed to  them.  Take  for  one  thing,  the  quantity  of  wine 
and  champagne  drunk  at  the  supper  table  by  the  young 
men;  it  is  scandalous,  and  so  befuddles  what  little  brains 
they  have  that  they  make  fools  of  themselves  all  the 
rest  of  the  evening.  I  think  my  attention  was  more 
especially  drawn  to  this  habit  last  evening  by  the  ex- 
pression of  amazement  and  disgust  on  Mr.  Manning's 
face.  He  was  assailed  on  all  sides  to  fill  up  his  glass, 
but  I  noticed  he  drank  only  water." 

"I  am  glad  to  hear  it,"  said  Mr.  Hutchinson.  "I 
am  glad  there  is  one  young  man  who  can  attend  a  dinner 
without  making  a  guzzler  of  himself." 

"I  feel  sorry  for  Wallace  Dunlap,"  continued  Dora. 
"He  is  so  bright  and  witty  and  would  be  so  nice  if  he 
did  not  drink  so  much.  He  was  on  the  verge  of  in- 
toxication last  night,  and  talked  so  boisterously  and 
roughly  that  Edith  was  terribly  mortified.     Jennie  did 


25 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

not  seem  to  care.  She  only  laughed  and  said  Wallace 
was  having  a  good  time.  I  wish  some  one  would 
talk  to  him.  I  believe  I  will  do  it  myself,  if  no  one  else 
does,"  and  she  laughed  at  the  idea. 

"I  think  if  you  girls  showed  more  plainly  that  you 
disliked  this  excessive  drinking,  there  would  be  less  of 
it,"  said  her  father. 

"One  dislikes  to  talk  temperance  and  get  laughed  at," 
replied  Dora;  "but  if  I  had  a  brother  like  Wallace,  I 
should  turn  temperance  orator  quickly  enough.  Now 
I  am  going  upstairs  to  tell  auntie  all  about  the  party. 
Dear,  patient  soul,  she  enjoys  my  telling  her  so 
much;  she  says  it  is  the  next  best  thing  to  being 
there." 

Dora  went  to  her  aunt's  room  and  was  soon  relating 
bits  of  last  night's  gaiety. 

"  Mr.  Graham  is  in  the  drawing  room  and  wishes  to 
see  Miss  Dora,"  announced  the  maid. 

"  Oh,  dear,  I  don't  want  to  go  down.  I  was  going  to 
have  a  nice  long  talk  with  you,  auntie,"  and  Dora 
shrugged  her  shoulders  impatiently. 

"I  thought  Harold  was  always  welcome,  my  dear," 
said  Aunt  Helen.  "You  can  come  and  see  me  again 
after  he  has  gone." 

"Oh,  I  like  Harold  well  enough,  when  he  doesn't  try 
to  make  love  to  me.  He  is  a  very  pleasant  friend,  but 
I  don't  want  him  for  a  lover." 

"Well,  my  child,  be  sure  you  know  your  own  heart. 
Don't  be  fickle  and  bring  sorrow  into  anyone's  life. 
Playing  with  human  hearts  is  a  fashionable  pastime,  I 
know,  but  it  is  crueL" 


26 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

11  Why,  Aunt  Helen,  how  seriously  you  speak,  just  as 
though  I  were  going  to  do  Mr.  Graham  some  great 
injury.  I  am  sure  I  am  not  fickle.  I  like  him  as  well 
as  ever,  except  when  he  talks  nonsense." 

"I  have  heard  you  say  you  liked  Harold  Graham 
better  than  any  other  gentleman  you  knew;  and 
other  remarks  have  led  me  to  believe  that  when 
he  asked  you  to  be  his  wife  (as  I  know  he  intends 
to  do)  you  would  not  refuse  him.  What  has  changed 
your  mind?"  and  Aunt  Helen  looked  keenly  at  her 
niece. 

Dora  blushed  in  evident  confusion.  "Now,  auntie, 
if  I  ever  made  any  such  remarks,  it  must  have  been 
just  after  he  had  been  particularly  nice,  or  had  brought 
me  a  new  supply  of  music.  I  am  very  sure  I  never 
thought  seriously  of  marrying  him.  Well,  I  suppose  I 
must  go  down,"  and  she  arose  reluctantly,  passed 
slowly  from  the  room,  and  as  slowly  descended  the 
stairs.  She  knew  what  he  had  come  for;  he  wanted  to 
criticise  the  young  man  from  the  West.  He  would  say 
sharp,  sarcastic  things,  and  she  would  probably  lose  her 
temper  defending  him. 

When  she  entered  the  room,  Harold  was  seated  at  the 
piano,  turning  the  leaves  of  some  new  music,  and  hum- 
ming a  bar  now  and  then.  He  arose  as  she  entered  and 
came  forward  to  greet  her,  looking  so  smiling  and  hand- 
some that  Dora  was  disarmed  at  once,  and  returned  his 
greeting  with  a  smile  of  welcome. 

They  spent  some  time  in  singing  and  discussing  the 
music;  then  the  conversation  drifted  to  society  and  their 
mutual  friends  and  acquaintances. 


27 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

"How  did  you  enjoy  the  reception  last  evening?"  he 
inquired. 

"Oh,  splendidly!"  said  Dora.  "I  don't  know  when 
I  have  enjoyed  myself  so  well." 

"One  reason,  I  suppose,"  said  Harold,  "was  the 
novelty  of  introducing  the  cowboy.  Didn't  you  feel  as 
if  you  had  an  elephant  tied  to  your  apron  strings  ?  He 
seemed  afraid  to  leave  your  side  for  any  length  of  time." 

Dora  blushed  with  vexation.  "Now,  Harold,  you 
know  Mr.  Manning  is  no  cowboy,  and  I  am  not  in  the 
habit  of  wearing  aprons  to  parties.  I  flatter  myself  that 
Mr.  Manning  stayed  by  my  side  because  he  enjoyed  my 
society,  and  for  no  other  reason.  Everyone  I  introduced 
him  to  seemed  charmed  with  him." 

"Charmed  with  his  money,  you  mean,  Dora.  If  he 
were  a  poor  man,  he  could  never  stand  the  ridicule  his 
uncouth  western  manners  would  bring  upon  him." 

"I  don't  understand  what  you  mean  by  his  uncouth 
manners,"  said  Dora,  with  spirit.  "I  could  see  no 
difference  between  his  manners  and  those  of  other 
gentlemen,  except  he  did  not  drink  six  glasses  of  cham- 
pagne like  Wallace  Dunlap,  who  could  not  talk  or  walk 
straight  after  supper." 

"  No,  he  doesn't  drink,  he  doesn't  smoke,  he  doesn't 
dance,  and  he  doesn't  swear.  He  is  a  model  young 
man.  I  suppose  he  can  sing  hymns  and  teach  a 
Sunday  School  class.  But,  as  I  say,  without  his 
money,  he  would  be  considered  a  milksop  in  society." 

"There  is  plenty  of  time  for  him  to  learn  all  the  ac- 
complishments you  speak  of,"  said  Dora,  coolly,  "but  I 
doubt  if  it  would  make  him  a  better  man." 


28 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

"Well,  it  makes  very  little  difference  to  me  whether 
he  be  a  saint  or  a  sinner,  so  long  as  you  do  not  get  in- 
terested in  him,  Dora." 

"But  I  am  interested  in  him  already.  I  think  he  is 
the  most  interesting  man  I  ever  met,"  and  Dora  smiled 
mischievously. 

"Dora,  how  long  have  we  been  friends?"  asked 
Harold,  in  a  meditative  tone. 

"Why,  for  years,"  replied  Dora,  surprised  at  the 
question. 

"Yes,  we  have  been  friends  for  years.  Don't  you 
think,  Dora,  that  we  ought  to  be  something  nearer  and 
dearer  to  each  other  in  the  future  ? " 

Dora  looked  up  with  startled  eyes,  and  raised  her 
hand  as  though  to  expostulate.  Harold  arose  and  came 
to  her  side,  taking  the  little  white  hand  in  his,  and  said 
in  a  tender  tone,  "You  know  that  I  love  you,  Dora,  and 
have  always  thought  of  you  as  my  future  wife.  Our 
parents  are  friendly  and  would  gladly  give  their  consent 
to  our  union.  Tell  me,  Dora,  when  will  you  be  my 
wife,  and  make  me  the  happiest  of  men?"  and  he 
bent  his  handsome  head  to  look  into  her  averted 
face. 

She  sprang  to  her  feet  and  drew  away  from  him,  say- 
ing, "Oh,  Harold,  I  am  so  sorry!  I  like  you  so  much, 
but  I  do  not  love  you  well  enough  to  be  your  wife." 

"What  do  you  mean,  Dora?  Not  be  my  wife  after 
encouraging  me  for  years!  You  cannot  mean  it!  I 
have  always  thought  you  knew  my  feelings  toward  you 
and  reciprocated  my  love.  You  cannot  refuse  me, 
Dora!"     His  face  was  pale  and  pleading. 


29 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

"Don't,  Harold,  don't,"  she  cried.  "I  want  to  be 
just  good  friends  with  you  as  we  have  always  been,  but 
I  cannot  marry  you." 

"  Dora,  I  shall  not  take  this  answer  as  decisive,"  ex- 
claimed Harold,  pacing  the  floor  in  his  agitation.  "I 
do  not  understand  you,  for  you  have  certainly  led  me 
to  suppose  that  when  I  asked  you  t6  be  my  wife,  you 
would  not  say  no  to  my  suit.  Our  parents  expect  it, 
society  expects  it,  and  I  will  not  accept  your  refusal. 
Think  of  what  I  have  said,  Dora;  try  and  learn  to  love 
me,  for  I  shall  ask  you  again  some  day  and  shall  expect 
a  different  answer." 

"  I  am  sure  that  it  will  be  of  no  use,"  said  Dora.  "  If 
I  do  not  love  you  now  after  years  of  friendship,  how  can 
I  expect  to  in  the  future?" 

"lam  willing  to  take  you  without  love,  Dora.  Your 
friendship  will  be  more  to  me  than  any  other  woman's 
love.    All  I  ask  is,  will  you  be  my  wife?" 

"No,  Harold,  it  cannot  be,"  she  answered,  firmly. 

"Well,  then,  I  shall  have  to  wait  until  I  can  win  you, 
for  I  shall  never  give  you  up. 

"Mr.  Philip  Manning,"  announced  the  footman. 

Harold  hastily  seized  his  hat  and  gloves  and  passed 
from  the  room,  giving  Philip  a  frigid  bow  as  they  met  at 
the  door. 


3° 


CHAPTER  V. 

THE  "COW 

As  Philip  entered  the  drawing  room,  he  perceived  at 
once  that  something  had  disturbed  Dora,  although  she 
tried  to  hide  her  agitation  and  arose,  with  a  forced  smile 
of  welcome.  It  embarrassed  Philip,  but  he  came  for- 
ward, in  his  frank,  impulsive  way  and  said,  "I  am  sorry 
to  have  intruded.  I  will  go  away  and  call  some  other 
time.  You  are  tired  after  last  night's  dissipation."  He 
turned  to  leave,  but  Dora  called  him  back. 

"You  are  not  intruding,  Mr.  Manning,  I  am  glad  you 
came.  Mr.  Graham  and  I  are  such  old  friends  that  we 
feel  privileged  to  disagree  at  times,"  and  she  laughed 
nervously. 

"A  lover's  quarrel,"  thought  Philip,  and  he  was  con- 
scious of  a  pang  at  his  heart  that  made  him  very  un- 
happy. The  sight  of  Harold  Graham's  angry  face  and 
Dora's  agitation  had  changed  the  sunlight  into  darkness 
and  made  him  heartsick.  His  tender  brown  eyes  looked 
so  sad  and  wistful  that  Dora  laughingly  exclaimed: 
"Mr.  Manning,  do  you  know  that  you  have  a  very  ex- 
pressive face?  Just  now  you  look  as  sorry  for  me  as 
though  I  had  lost  all  my  friends.  Now,  if  you  truly  wish 
to  sympathize  with  me  and  wish  to  dispel  my  gloom,  sit 
down  and  tell  me  something  interesting;  tell  me  about 
your  home  in  the  West — are  your  parents  living  ? — have 
you  brothers  and  sisters  ?    Didn't  they  hate  to  have  you 

3i 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

leave  them?"  Manning's  face  brightened  up;  she 
wanted  him  to  stay,  and  he  was  quite  willing. 

"I  am  afraid  the  story  of  my  life  would  be  of  little 
interest  to  you,"  he  said.  "I  cannot  tell  you  of  grand 
receptions  like  the  one  we  attended  last  evening.  You 
know  I  have  been  only  a  plain,  country  farmer  until 
lately,  with  neither  money  nor  time  to  mingle  much  with 
society." 

"  I  don't  care  to  hear  of  society  doings.  I  see  enough 
of  society  in  my  own  life;  but  if  you  would  not  think  it 
impertinent  of  me,  I  should  love  to  hear  of  your  life  on 
a  western  farm,  and  how  it  affected  you  to  realize  that 
you  were  no  longer  poor,  but  a  rich  man." 

He  laughed  and  brushed  back  the  thick,  wavy  hair 
from  his  brow.  "Well,  you  know,  it  was  not  altogether 
a  surprise.  I  had  always  known  I  was  Uncle  George's 
favorite;  but  he  was  eccentric  and  never  talked  much 
of  his  affairs.  I  expected  to  be  remembered  generously, 
but  I  did  not  expect  he  would  leave  me  his  entire  fortune. 
My  only  regret  is  that  he  had  not  been  more  generous 
during  his  life- time;  but  the  fact  is,  he  did  not  take  a 
fancy  to  poor  old  dad.  It  irritated  him  to  see  things  so 
shiftless  at  the  farm.  My  mother  was  an  invalid  for 
years,  and  dad  was  a  dreamer.  He  would  roam  about 
the  woods  discovering  and  exulting  in  the  mysteries  of 
nature,  while  the  broken  fence  let  the  cattle  out.  But 
one  could  not  be  angry  with  him;  he  was  always  so  sweet 
and  amiable.  When  I  grew  old  enough  to  be  of  any 
use,  the  burden  gradually  rolled  upon  my  young  shoul- 
ders, and  as  I  grew  older,  I  had  to  assume  the  entire 
management  of  the  farm  and  care  for  three  helpless  ones. 


32 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

My  sister,  Josie,  seven  years  younger  than  myself, 
proved  of  great  help,  but  her  work  was  in  the  house, 
while  mine  was  out  of  doors." 

" Where  is  your  sister  now?"  asked  Dora,  her  face 
aglow  with  interest. 

"  She  is  at  school.  She  will  graduate  soon.  Then  I 
hope  to  have  her  with  me." 

"How  can  your  father  and  mother  endure  your  ab- 
sence, when  you  have  been  their  staff  and  dependence 
for  years?" 

The  young  man's  face  clouded,  and  his  eyes  grew  sad 
and  humid  with  tears.  "My  mother  died  last  spring, 
in  the  month  of  May,  and  dear  old  dad  roams  the  woods 
at  his  own  sweet  will.  It  is  very  hard  for  the  poor  old 
man  with  us  all  gone,  but  he  is  not  one  to  fret.  He  will 
be  happy  and  content  under  any  circumstances.  I  shall 
make  a  home  for  him  as  soon  as  possible.  I  shall  get 
some  place  in  the  suburbs  near  a  park  or  woods.  Dad 
wouldn't  be  happy  without  the  wild  flowers  and  birds. 
I  know  he  is  well  cared  for.  Mrs.  Croft,  the  house- 
keeper, has  been  with  us  for  years.  She  understands  all 
his  whims  and  fancies.  She  will  take  as  good  care  of 
him  as  she  would  a  child." 

"I  should  love  to  meet  your  father,"  said  Dora,  "I 
know  he  must  be  a  very  lovable  old  man.  I  always 
liked  old  men.  I  can  imagine  him  telling  fairy  tales 
and  legends  of  long  ago." 

"  Yes,  you  would  like  dad;  every  one  does  who  knows 
him." 

"You  say  your  mother  was  an  invalid,"  continued 
Dora.    "  I  have  an  aunt  who  is  an  invalid.    She  never 


33 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

leaves  her  room,  and  before  you  tell  me  of  your 
mother,  I  want  to  take  you  to  her.  She  would  be  so 
interested  to  hear  of  some  other  invalid.  Come,"  she 
said,  "we  will  go  to  Aunt  Helen's  room." 

He  followed  her  up  the  broad  stairway  and  was 
ushered  into  a  bright,  sunny  room,  and  introduced  to 
the  pale-faced  woman  in  the  reclining  chair.  She  gave 
him  a  thin,  white  hand,  and  greeted  him  in  her  sweet, 
gracious  way. 

"Mr.  Manning  has  been  telling  me  of  his  home  life 
in  the  West.  He  says  his  mother  was  an  invalid  for 
years,  and  I  knew  you  would  be  so  interested  to  hear  of 
her  that  I  brought  him  up  to  tell  us  about  her." 

"That  was  right,  my  dear.  I  am  as  you  say,  inter- 
ested in  the  lives  of  humanity.  God  has  blessed  me 
abundantly;  for  although  an  invalid  shut  away  from 
the  world,  I  have  a  beautiful  home,  loving  friends,  and 
a  dear  niece  who  brings  the  sunshine  of  her  glad,  young 
life  to  my  room  daily  with  news  from  the  outside  world. 
I  am  blest  indeed,"  and  she  laid  her  hand  lovingly  on 
Dora's  head. 

Dora  kissed  the  hand  and  gazed  affectionately  into 
her  aunt's  face,  while  Philip  Manning  thought  he  had 
never  looked  upon  so  lovely  a  picture. 

"The  story  of  my  mother's  life  would  interest  but 
few,"  he  said,  "it  was  so  quiet  and  uneventful.  She 
was  a  minister's  daughter  and  one  of  the  sweetest  of 
Christian  characters.  Uncle  George  was  five  years  older 
than  mother,  and  of  an  entirely  different  disposition. 
The  restraint  of  the  quiet  parsonage  was  more  than  he 
could  bear,  and  at  an  early  age  he  went  into  the  busy 


34 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

world  to  seek  his  fame  and  fortune.  The  latter  he 
found.  He  wrote  for  his  sister  to  come  and  take  charge 
of  his  beautiful  home,  but  she  would  not  leave  her 
father.  Just  before  her  father's  death,  she  married  my 
father,  at  that  time  a  professor  in  a  college.  His  health 
failed  and  he  was  obliged  to  resign  the  chair.  My  uncle 
then  gave  them  a  farm;  but  father  was  no  farmer,  al- 
though he  delighted  in  country  life.  When  Josie  was 
about  five  years  of  age,  my  mother  was  thrown  from  her 
horse  and  received  injuries  that  confined  her  to  her  bed 
for  the  rest  of  her  life. 

"I  shall  never  forget  that  day.  I  opened  the  gate 
for  mother.  As  she  passed  out,  she  kissed  her  hand  to 
me,  and  I  thought  how  beautiful  she  looked.  She  was 
a  fine  horsewoman  and  rode  almost  daily.  That  day 
she  wore  a  dark  green  habit,  trimmed  with  dark  green 
braid.  Her  cheeks  were  flushed  with  health,  and  her 
dark,  wavy  hair  blew  in  ripples  and  stray  curls  about 
her  face.  When  next  I  saw  her,  she  lay  unconscious 
with  white  face  and  bloodless  lips,  and  her  pretty  hair 
cut  short.  I  shrieked  so  they  hurried  me  from  the  room 
and  would  not  let  me  see  her  again  for  several  days, 
although  I  sat  constantly  at  the  door  of  her  room  and 
begged  all  who  passed  in  or  out  to  let  me  see  her.  I 
would  obey  no  one  but  dad.  For  his  sake,  I  would  try 
to  stifle  my  grief  and  eat  a  little  or  go  to  my  room,  but 
as  soon  as  he  was  out  of  sight,  I  was  back  at  my  post 
again.  Josie  was  too  young  to  realize  our  calamity, 
and  played  and  laughed  as  usual  in  spite  of  my  re- 
monstrances. 

"At  last,  my  mother  bade  them  let  me  come  to  her. 


35 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

Her  first  words  were,  '  God  has  been  very  good  to  us, 
my  son ! ■  I  gazed  at  her  in  amazement.  It  had  seemed 
to  me  that  God  had  allowed  a  great  disaster  to  fall  upon 
us.  She  smiled  at  my  puzzled  face.  'He  has  not  let 
me  die,  and  I  do  not  suffer  much.  Don't  you  think  he 
is  good  to  spare  me  a  little  longer?  Although  I  may 
never  be  able  to  walk,  I  shall  be  among  you,  and  do  not 
want  to  leave  my  loved  ones  yet.'  I  flung  my  arms 
around  her,  my  rebellious  heart  soothed  by  her  loving 
words. 

"Uncle  George  visited  us  soon  after  hearing  of  his 
sister's  accident.  I  became  a  great  favorite  with  him, 
and  often  visited  him  in  his  beautiful  city  home.  He 
never  married.  I  fancy  there  must  have  been  a  romance 
in  his  early  life,  for  after  his  death  I  found  a  young  girl's 
picture  among  other  mementoes  in  a  little  cabinet.  He 
had  a  beautiful  home  that  any  lady  might  have  been 
proud  to  preside  over.     Poor  Uncle  George!" 

The  two  women  had  listened  eagerly  to  his  story, 
hardly  removing  their  eyes  from  his  face,  and  when  he 
spoke  of  his  mother's  accident  and  his  own  grief,  the 
tears  had  flowed  down  Dora's  cheeks. 

A  little  clock  chimed  the  hour,  and  Manning  sprang 
to  his  feet  in  dismay.  "  You  must  pardon  me,"  he  cried. 
"I  had  no  idea  it  was  so  late.  I  hope  I  have  not  in- 
terfered with  any  of  your  engagements." 

"No,  I  assure  you,"  said  Dora,  "I  have  been  so  in- 
terested in  your  story,  that  I  have  not  been  conscious  of 
passing  time.  I  appreciate  your  kindness  in  telling  us 
of  your  parents  and  home,  and  I  should  like  to  ask  you 
a  good  many  questions  about  your  sister  Josie.  Perhaps 

36 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

some  time  you  will  tell  me  about  her.  But,  come,  there 
is  the  bell  for  lunch.  I  have  detained  you  so  long,  you 
must  stay  to  lunch  with  us." 

After  they  left  the  room,  Aunt  Helen  leaned  back  in 
her  chair  with  closed  eyes,  and  murmured,  "A  good 
son  makes  a  good  husband." 


37 


CHAPTER  VI. 


All  was  commotion  and  excitement  at  the  Dunlap 
residence.  It  was  the  birthday  of  Edith,  the  elder 
daughter,  and  the  event  was  to  be  celebrated  by  an 
elaborate  dinner.  "I  wish  we  might  do  something  un- 
usual to-night,  something  unique,  to  stamp  the  event  on 
everyone's  memory  as  a  red  letter  night.  But  I  cannot 
think  of  anything;  can  you,  Wallace  ?"  and  Edith 
turned  to  her  brother. 

"No,"  he  replied,  "only  have  the  wine  good,  and  all 
will  be  satisfied." 

"All  you  think  about  is  wine,  Wallace  Dunlap.  You 
ought  to  be  ashamed  of  yourself,"  replied  Edith,  in- 
dignantly. 

"I  don't  see  anything  to  be  ashamed  of  in  being  a 
good  judge  of  wine." 

"I  don't  care  how  much  wine  you  drink,  so  long  as 
you  don't  make  a  fool  of  yourself  as  you  did  the  other 
night  at  Bradley's.    I  was  ashamed  of  you." 

"I  acknowledge  I  did  rather  overdo  it  that  night,  but 
it  won't  happen  again,  so  don't  be  hard  on  a  fellow," 
and  he  looked  so  penitent  and  handsome  that  his  sister 
smiled  indulgently. 

Jennie,  the  younger  sister,  had  been  seated  at  a 
window,  idly  gazing  out  upon  the  scenery,  while  the 
above   conversation   was   taking   place   between   her 


38 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

brother  and  sister.  Now  she  came  forward  and  said: 
"I  have  been  thinking  while  you  two  have  been  quarrel- 
ling, and  I  believe  I  have  a  unique  idea  for  you." 

"What  is  it?"  Edith  exclaimed,  while  Wallace  raised 
himself  on  his  elbow  to  listen. 

"Well,"  said  Jennie,  "it  is  this, — get  papa's  consent 
to  open  some  of  "The  Royal  Seal,"  and  we  will  drink 
your  health  in  a  nectar  fit  for  the  gods.  Papa  shall  tell 
us  the  story  of  how  the  wine  came  into  his  possession — 
how  every  drop  is  worth  a  gold  dollar." 

"Say,  that  would  be  fine!"  cried  Wallace,  springing 
from  his  reclining  posture,  his  eyes  sparkling,  "but  I  am 
afraid  you  cannot  get  the  governor's  consent.  You 
know  he  is  as  jealous  of  that  wine  as  a  miser  is  of  his 
gold." 

"No,"  said  Edith,  shaking  her  head,  "he  would  not 
let  us  have  it.  You  know  the  last  bottle  was  opened 
on  papa's  wedding  day,  and  I  have  heard  him  say  that 
not  another  one  should  be  opened  until  the  wedding 
day  of  one  of  his  children." 

"I  guess  I  shall  have  to  hurry  up  my  wedding  day, 
if  that  is  so,"  laughed  Wallace.  "'The  Royal  Seal' 
would  be  nearly  as  tempting  as  the  bride  herself." 

"I  think  I  can  get  papa's  consent,"  said  Jennie.  "I 
am  going  to  try.  Wish  me  good  luck!"  and  she  ran 
out  of  the  room. 

Wallace  and  Edith  waited  anxiously  for  her  return. 
It  was  nearly  an  hour  before  she  came  back.  When 
she  did  come,  they  knew  she  had  won  the  day  by  the 
triumphant  expression  upon  her  face.  She  threw  her- 
self into  a  chair  with  a  laugh.   "  I  am  all  tired  out.   I  had 


39 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

hard  work  to  coax  papa.  At  first,  he  said, '  No '  emphat- 
ically, but  I  persevered  and  brought  up  every  argument 
to  induce  him  to  yield.  I  told  him  what  an  addition  it 
would  be  to  our  feast.  At  last,  he  consented  to  let  us 
have  four  bottles.     There  are  only  two  dozen  left." 

"You're  a  trump,  Jennie !"  said  Wallace,  admiringly. 
"I  don't  believe  Edith  or  I  could  have  got  around  the 
pater.  We  will  have  him  tell  the  legend,  DeVere  offer 
the  toast,  and  Graham  respond,  while  Edith  cuts  and 
bestows  upon  us  the  famous  birthday  cake." 

"You  seem  to  take  it  upon  yourself  to  do  all  the 
planning,"  said  Edith.  "I  should  think  it  was  your 
birthday  party  instead  of  mine." 

"  Oh,  I  am  only  helping  you  out.  If  it  were  not  for 
Jennie  and  me,  your  party  would  be  a  failure.  Isn't 
that  so,  Jennie?"  and  he  caught  his  young  sister  about 
the  waist  and  began  waltzing  around  the  room. 

That  evening  the  mansion  was  aglow  with  lights.  A 
profusion  of  flowers,  beautiful  costumes,  and  flashing 
jewels,  with  the  sweet  strains  of  music  from  the  ball 
room,  completed  the  scene.  The  long  spacious  dining 
room  was  a  marvel  of  beauty.  Flowers  and  ferns  were 
banked  in  every  available  recess.  The  long  table, 
glittering  with  its  display  of  silver  and  cut  glass,  was 
lighted  by  three  great  chandeliers,  depending  from 
the  ceiling,  containing  hundreds  of  tiny  jets,  shining 
through  different  colored  globes.  In  the  center  of  the 
table  stood  the  birthday  cake,  a  marvel  of  culinary  art, 
surrounded  by  a  bank  of  roses  and  ferns.  The  birthday 
book  lay  at  its  side,  wherein  each  one  present  was  ex- 
pected to  write  his  name,  adding  any  sentiment,  rhyme 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

or  original  thought,  that  seemed  appropriate  to  the 
occasion. 

Edith,  the  young  hostess,  looked  very  pretty  and 
stylish  as  she  led  the  way  to  the  table.  What  a  merry 
group  they  were!  How  repartee  and  wit  flashed  forth, 
bright  eyes  sparkled,  and  red  lips  smiled! 

Dora  was  there,  beautiful  as  a  dream  in  her  fleecy 
robe,  that  seemed  composed  of  but  two  things,  billows 
of  lace  and  flowers. 

Philip  Manning,  sitting  opposite,  could  not  keep  his 
eyes  from  devouring  her  loveliness.  He  tried  to  keep 
them  upon  his  plate,  or  upon  others;  but  the  sound  of 
her  voice  or  a  ripple  of  laughter  from  her  red  lips  drew 
them  back  again  like  a  magnet. 

Dora  and  several  others  had  noticed  that  while  other 
plates  were  surrounded  by  a  medley  of  glasses,  filled  with 
different  wines  and  liquors,  Manning's  were  all  turned 
down,  save  the  one  which  contained  water.  Harold 
Graham,  who  was  seated  by  Dora's  side,  whispered 
with  a  sneer,  "A  teetotaller."  Dora  flushed,  but  made 
no  reply. 

As  the  feast  was  nearing  its  close,  DeVere  attracted 
attention  by  rising  and  saying,  "Ladies  and  gentlemen, 
I  wish  to  announce  that  we  are  to  be  highly  honored 
tonight,  by  being  allowed  to  taste  of  a  famous  old  wine, 
called  'The  Royal  Seal.'  It  is  over  one  hundred  years 
old,  and  was  made  by  royal  hands.  How  this  wine 
came  into  the  possession  of  our  host,  he  himself 
will  tell  you,"  and  DeVere  sat  down,  while  a  pleased 
murmur  of  interest  and  approbation  went  around  the 
table. 


4* 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

Mr.  Dunlap  arose,  cleared  his  throat  and  said,  "My 
dear  friends,  this  is  a  duty  thrust  upon  me.  I  am  no 
speech  maker,  and  I  can  only  tell  you  the  legend  of  'The 
Royal  Seal'  as  it  has  been  told  to  me:  A  great  many 
years  ago  a  poor  peasant  was  condemned  to  be  executed 
with  a  number  of  other  malefactors.  He  begged  so 
hard  to  be  permitted  to  speak  with  the  king  that  they  at 
last  granted  his  request,  thinking  perhaps  he  might 
have  some  secret  or  valuable  communication  to  make. 
He  was  brought  before  the  king.  He  demanded  a 
private  audience,  and  when  this  was  granted,  he  amazed 
the  king  by  simply  asking  him  if  he  loved  good  wine. 
'Of  course  I  do,'  replied  the  king,  'but  what  has  that 
to  do  with  you?'  'Well,'  said  the  peasant,  'I  possess 
a  recipe,  unknown  to  any  other  soul,  for  making  a  wine 
of  such  rich  and  delicious  flavor  that  all  who  drink  once 
would  sell  their  souls  for  another  drink.  Another  vir- 
tue, it  will  exhilarate,  but  not  intoxicate.  No  head- 
aches or  bad  feelings  follow  its  indulgence.  Instead, 
it  has  medicinal  properties  that  tone  up  the  system  and 
ward  off  disease.'  The  king  listened  rather  skeptically. 
'  If  you  have  such  a  valuable  recipe,  why  have  you  not 
made  and  sold  your  wine  and  gained  riches?'  'The 
ingredients  are  too  expensive,  O,  King,'  he  replied. 
'  Have  you  ever  made  any  of  this  wine  ? '  asked  the  king. 
'Yes,'  said  the  peasant,  'a  small  quantity.'  'Where  is 
it  ? '  demanded  the  king.  '  At  my  home  on  the  mountain 
side.  You  may  send  for  it  and  test  it  yourself.  Then 
if  you  wish  I  will  teach  you  to  make  it  on  one  condition.' 
' Aiid  that  is  ? '  asked  the  king  eagerly.  '  That  you  spare 
my  life  and  allow  me  to  return  to  my  home  and  family.' 


42 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

'Very  well,'  said  the  king,  'I  will  send  at  once;  and  if 
as  you  say,  this  wine  is  of  such  excellence  and  contains 
so  many  virtues,  I  will  grant  you  your  life,  and  you  shall 
teach  me  the  wine  making.'  So  the  peasant  was  con- 
ducted back  to  his  prison;  the  wine  was  sent  for  and 
tasted  by  the  king  and  some  other  good  judges.  They 
all  proclaimed  it  the  finest  they  had  ever  drunk.  The 
peasant  was  liberated,  and  in  payment  for  his  life,  he 
taught  the  king  how  to  make  the  wonderful  wine. 
Every  bottle  was  stamped  with,  'The  Royal  Seal,'  and 
kings  and  nobles  from  other  lands  esteemed  it  a  high 
honor  to  be  offered  a  glass  of  'The  Royal  Seal.' 

"My  great-grandfather  once  did  a  service  for  the 
king,  and  in  reward  the  king  presented  him  with  a  gross 
of  'The  Royal  Seal.'  This  has  been  handed  down 
from  father  to  son,  until  on  my  twenty-first  birthday  my 
father  gave  me  three  dozen  bottles;  some  of  it  was 
opened  on  that  occasion,  and  some  on  my  wedding  day. 
I  had  intended  not  to  open  any  more  until  the  wedding 
day  of  some  of  my  children;  but  I  have  been  over- 
persuaded,  and  tonight,  friends,  you  shall  drink  my 
daughter's  health  in  'The  Royal  Seal'.  " 

There  was  a  soft  clapping  of  hands  at  the  closing  of 
the  narrative.  The  bottles  were  brought  forth  by  the 
butler,  and  before  opening,  they  were  passed  from  hand 
to  hand  for  inspection.  "The  Royal  Seal"  was  ex- 
amined with  interest,  then  the  waiter  filled  a  tiny  glass 
for  each  guest.  When  he  came  to  Manning's  place, 
finding  the  glasses  all  turned  down,  he  hesitated,  and 
said,  "Wine,  sir?"  Philip  shook  his  head,  and  the 
waiter  passed  on,  but  he  had  not  gone  far  before  Wallace 


43 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

called  out,  "John,  you  have  passed  that  gentleman's 
glass,"  indicating  Manning. 

"He  said  he  did  not  wish  any,  sir,"  replied  the  waiter, 
while  Philip  colored  with  confusion,  as  he  saw  the  whole 
company  gazing  at  him  in  amazement. 

"Pardon  me,"  explained  Philip,  "I  never  drink 
wine." 

"But  this  is  different,  Mr.  Manning,"  said  Edith, 
persuasively,  "only  a  sip  to  drink  my  health.  Pray 
let  John  fill  your  glass." 

"I  hate  to  refuse  a  lady's  request.  May  I  not  drink 
your  health  in  the  pure,  sparkling  water?"  and  Philip 
raised  his  glass,  while  every  eye  was  riveted  upon  him. 
"  This  is  a  beverage  also  stamped  with  a  Royal  Seal,  as 
it  was  made  by  the  King  of  Kings." 

He  looked  so  handsome,  and  spoke  in  such  a  frank, 
winning  manner,  that  Edith  could  not  be  impatient 
with  him,  but  answered  with  a  smile  of  assent. 

So  the  toast  was  drunk,  with  best  wishes  for  the  health 
and  happiness  of  the  young  hostess.  As  they  all  arose 
and  held  their  glasses  aloft  for  the  toast,  Dora  could  not 
help  comparing  the  tall  erect  figure  that  held  the  spark- 
ling water  higher  than  the  wine,  with  the  men  that 
surrounded  him,  and  the  comparison  was  greatly  in  his 
favor.  "He  is  a  brave  man  to  stand  by  his  principles 
in  the  face  of  such  opposition,"  she  thought.  "I  am 
proud  of  him."  He  caught  the  look  of  commendation, 
and  his  face  flushed  with  pleasure.  She  did  not  think 
he  was  wrong,  and  his  heart  beat  with  happiness. 

After  supper  he  went  to  her  side  and  basked  in  her 
smiles,  while  Graham  watched  them  with  rage  in  his 


44 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

heart.  Mrs.  Dunlap  came  to  him  later  in  the  evening, 
and  taking  him  by  the  hand,  said,  with  tears  in  her  eyes, 
"  Mr.  Manning,  I  want  to  thank  you  for  the  stand  you 
took  tonight  against  wine.  I  would  gladly  banish  it 
from  my  table,  but  my  family  will  not  allow  me  to.  I 
can  see  its  evil  effects  upon  Wallace,  and  I  tremble  for 
his  future.  If  you  ever  have  a  chance  to  check  or  advise 
him,  when  you  see  he  is  drinking  too  much,  you  shall 
have  a  mothers  blessing." 

"I  will  certainly  do  as  you  desire,"  replied  Manning, 
fervently,  "  for  my  mother's  sake  as  well  as  yours.  She 
taught  me  to  shun  the  wine  cup  as  I  would  a  serpent. 
It  makes  me  sad  to  see  so  much  drinking  in  society, 
among  those  who  by  their  intellect  and  education  should 
know  better.  But  they  are  afraid  of  being  unpopular 
and  of  being  ridiculed  if  they  do  not  follow  the  custom 
of  taking  a  social  glass." 

"Are  you  giving  mamma  a  temperance  lecture?" 
laughed  Jennie,  coming  to  her  mother's  side.  "Pray 
don't;  she  is  full  of  temperance  notions  now.  What 
harm  do  you  see  in  a  glass  of  wine,  Mr.  Manning?" 

"No  harm  in  one  glass,"  he  answered,  "  if  it 
is  not  followed  by  another  and  still  another,  until  it 
deprives  man  of  his  faculties  and  changes  him  into  a 
brute." 

"But,"  persisted  Jennie,  "there  are  only  a  few  who 
drink  to  excess,  and  of  course  they  ought  to  be  ashamed 
of  themselves;  but  would  you  deprive  all  the  rest  of  us 
just  because  a  few  make  beasts  of  themselves?" 

"Yes,  I  would  restrain  all  for  the  sake  of  the  few,"  he 
replied. 


45 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 


"Well,  I  am  afraid  you  won't'get  many  advocates  in 
society.  I  cannot  imagine  a  dinner  without  wine.  It 
would  be  pretty  flat,  I  think,"  and  she  made  a  little 
grimace  and  passed  on. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

A  HUMAN  BUTTERFLY. 

Did  you  ever  watch  a  beautiful,  golden  butterfly 
hover  from  flower  to  flower,  fluttering  its  bright  wings 
in  the  sunshine;  beautiful  and  frail  to  look  upon,  of  no 
earthly  use  but  for  our  admiration,  its  only  aim  to  bask 
in  the  sunshine  and  flirt  with  the  flowers?  Of  such  a 
nature  was  Violet  Devereaux,  a  beautiful,  golden- 
haired,  human  butterfly,  sipping  life's  pleasures,  flutter- 
ing from  heart  to  heart,  basking  in  the  sunshine  of  many 
loves;  beautiful  and  fragile,  of  no  earthly  use  but  for 
man's  admiration;  possessing  no  more  heart  than  one 
of  these  frail  insects,  she  sipped  her  sweets  unmindful 
of  the  pain  inflicted.  She  was  of  a  careless,  happy 
nature,  full  of  laughter  and  gay  spirits,  avoiding  all  care 
and  trouble.  She  seemed  to  think  the  world  was  made 
solely  for  enjoyment,  and  all  that  contributed  to  that 
enjoyment  was  cordially  welcomed;  but  woe  to  those 
who  would  try  to  arouse  deeper  or  holier  thoughts 
within  that  careless  heart;  they  were  at  once  brushed 
from  her  path  and  strenuously  avoided. 

Violet  was  twenty-four,  but  so  petite  and  girlish  in 
appearance,  that  she  would  easily  pass  for  eighteen. 
For  three  years  she  nightly  made  her  appearance  upon 
the  stage  in  the  role  of  "Fairy  Queen."  Her  slender, 
graceful  form  and  beautiful  face,  made  her  a  great 
favorite,  both  before  and  behind  the  footlights.    After 


47 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

a  short  and  brilliant  career,  she  married  an  old  man  with 
money  enough  to  compensate  for  the  disparity  in  their 
ages.  She  led  him  a  gay  life,  for  although  shut  out  of 
aristocratic  circles,  there  were  plenty  ready  and  willing 
to  attend  her  entertainments  and  suppers;  as  there  was 
always  a  jolly  good  time,  no  conventionalities  and  plenty 
of  good  wine. 

Violet  was  very  popular  with  the  young  men  as  she 
was  gay,  witty,  and  beautiful.  At  last  she  tired  the 
poor  old  husband  out  and  he  gladly  lay  down  to  his  long 
rest,  leaving  Violet  a  rich  widow.  Now  she  was  happy ; 
with  riches,  beauty  and  freedom,  she  desired  no  more. 
She  resolved  never  V)  marry  again;  husbands  were  a 
bore.  Her  home  became  the  rendezvous  for  many  fast 
young  men.  They  were  free  to  come  and  go  as  they 
pleased.  If  Violet  felt  like  entertaining  them,  all  right; 
if  not,  they  went  to  the  billiard  room  and  amused  them- 
selves. They  made  her  handsome  presents  and  these 
were  never  refused.  She  told  herself  that  they  might  as 
well  help  pay  for  the  wine  they  drank  at  her  house. 

Violet  was  not  sentimental,  and  laughed  at  all  love- 
making,  and  never  would  be  serious  unless  there  was  a 
diamond  or  other  costly  jewel  to  tempt  her.  Then  she 
would  be  very  fascinating  and  winning,  and  her  victim 
would  live  in  Elysium  for  a  short  period,  until  she  had 
gained  possession  of  the  trinket;  when  she  would  cast 
him  off  with  the  utmost  indifference  and  he  would  call 
himself  all  sorts  of  bad  names  for  being  her  dupe,  and 
vow  never  to  see  her  again ;  but  a  smile  or  a  caress  would 
make  him  her  slave  once  more.  So  she  played  with  the 
hearts  of  men,  untouched  by  Cupid's  arrows  herself 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

All  she  wanted  of  life  was  a  royal  good  time,  and 
she  intended  to  have  it;  since  society  had  seen  fit  to 
shut  its  doors  upon  her,  she  would  have  it  in  her  own 
way. 

Today  she  lay  upon  the  sofa,  her  dress  of  pale  blue 
silk  fell  in  graceful  folds  about  her  slender  figure,  the 
wide,  loose  sleeves  revealed  the  white  arms;  her  beauti- 
ful, golden  hair  lay  half  unbound  upon  the  satin  pillow, 
where  it  gleamed  like  a  golden  sunbeam.  She  was 
reading  a  novel,  and  every  few  moments  the  dainty, 
white  fingers  picked  a  bon-bon  from  a  silver  dish  at 
her  side,  and  placed  it  between  her  rosy  lips.  The 
door  opened  and  admitted  Harold  Graham. 

Violet  gazed  lazily  at  him  without  changing  her 
position,  "Take  a  seat,  Harold,"  she  said,  "I  am  just 
in  an  intensely  interesting  place  in  my  book,  so  pray  ex- 
cuse me  for  a  little  while.  I  must  find  out  whether  she 
elopes  with  him  or  not." 

"Well,  don't  be  too  long,  Violet,  as  I  want  a  little 
conversation  with  you,"  he  replied,  seating  himself  at 
the  table  and  taking  up  a  magazine. 

There  was  a  silence  for  a  few  minutes,  broken  at  last 
by  Violet  throwing  her  novel  at  Harold's  head.  He 
dodged  and  it  fell  to  the  floor.  "Doesn't  it  end  all 
right  ?  "  he  asked,  with  a  laugh. 

"No,  it  doesn't,"  and  Violet  yawned  and  stretched 
her  arms,  clasping  her  hands  beneath  her  golden  head. 
"I  should  like  to  shake  the  author.  They  always  re- 
ward the  goody-goody  ones,  and  the  poor  old  black 
sheep  has  to  die,  making  a  death-bed  confession  of  all 
his  sins." 


49 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

"Then  your  sympathies  are  not  always  with  the 
goody-goodies,  as  you  call  them,"  laughed  Harold. 

"No,"  answered  Violet,  vehemently,  "I  don't  like  them 
in  real  life  and  I  dislike  them  in  fiction,  they  are  too  tame 
and  hypocritical." 

"  Those  are  just  my  sentiments,  Violet,  I  despise  those 
who  set  themselves  up  as  superior  to  all  others,  and  ex- 
pect us  to  admire  and  pattern  after  them.  I  came  this 
morning  to  talk  to  you  about  one  of  these  'perfection- 
ists.'    I  want  your  advice  and  help." 

"Do  you  refer  to  the  young  Westerner?"  asked  Violet. 
"In  what  way  has  he  offended  you?  Is  he  trying  to 
induce  you  to  change  your  ways,  or  take  a  Sunday 
School  class?     Does  he  preach  to  you?" 

"  No ;  he  seldom  speaks  to  me.  He  knows  I  don't  like 
him;  but  he  has  such  a  calm,  superior  way  of  discoun- 
tenancing all  follies  and  vices,  making  us  other  fellows, 
who  like  a  bit  of  fun,  appear  to  disadvantage,  and  he 
is  taking  wonderfully  with  the  ladies.  They  look  upon 
him  as  a  model  young  man,  vastly  superior  to  the  rest 
of  us.  According  to  my  opinion,  he  is  a  conceited  cad, 
who  has  no  right  to  thrust  himself  among  us  and  pose 
for  a  paragon." 

"  I  don't  understand  how  the  women  can  admire  him 
as  you  say  they  do.  As  a  general  rule,  women  like  the 
dare-devils  the  best,"  said  Violet,  meditatively. 

"Well,  you  see  he  is  nice  looking,"  admitted  Harold, 
reluctantly,  "besides  being  rich  and  a  sort  of  novelty." 

"Oh,  I  see,"  laughed  Violet.  "You  fellows  are  all 
jealous  of  him.  Why  don't  you  throw  mud  on  him; 
bring  him  down  from  his  pedestal,  make  him  drink,  or 

5o 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

gamble.    After  he  has  been  in  the  city  a  while,  he  will 
learn  the  ropes  and,  soil  his  pinions." 

"We  have  tried  every  means,  but  without  avail. 
DeVere  has  tried  his  best  to  get  him  to  play;  Wallace 
has  invited  him  to  drink  time  after  time:  but  to  no  use, 
he  is  as  invulnerable  as  a  block  of  marble." 

"  Bring  him  to  me,"  cried  Violet,  her  eyes  sparkling. 
"  I  will  wager  I  could  overcome  some  of  his  scruples.  I 
am  getting  interested  in  this  young  saint.  I  should  like 
to  see  him.  I  am  afraid  he  will  die  young  if  some  one 
does  not  come  to  his  rescue,"  and  she  laughed  merrily. 

"That  is  just  what  I  was  about  to  suggest,"  said 
Harold,  eagerly.  "We  have  tried  every  temptation, 
but  without  success.  Perhaps  he  may  have  a  weakness 
that  only  a  beautiful,  fascinating  woman  like  yourself 
can  touch.  If  he  can  withstand  your  smiles,  he  must 
have  a  heart  of  stone." 

"  Well,  bring  him  to  me,  and  I  will  see  what  a  woman's 
smiles  can  do,"  replied  Violet. 

"I  don't  see  how  I  can  do  that,"  said  Harold,  with  a 
perplexed  frown.  "One  visit  would  show  him  this 
was  no  place  for  him.  He  would  not  stay  half  an  hour. 
He  is  too  shy  a  bird  to  be  caught  that  way." 

"I  don't  see  how  I  can  make  his  acquaintance,  if  he 
won't  come  where  I  am." 

" But  you  can  go  to  him;  not  in  a  way  to  frighten  him, 
in  some  disguise,  or  by  an  accident  to  attract  his  attention 
and  sympathy.   You  know  how  those  things  are  done." 

"Oh,  yes,  I  know,  but  why  should  I  go  to  so  much 
trouble  ?  What  do  I  care  whether  he  is  saint  or  devil  ? 
He  is  not  in  my  way?" 

5i 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

"Still  he  is  in  my  way,"  exclaimed  Harold,  passion- 
ately, "and  I  want  you  to  take  him  out  of  my  way, 
and  I  will  pay  you  well." 

"I  don't  think  you  are  very  complimentary,"  pouted 
Violet.  "You  speak  as  though  an  acquaintance  with  me 
would  work  a  man's  ruin.  I  should  think  you  would  be 
afraid  of  me  yourself." 

"Oh,  bother,  Violet;  you  know  well  enough  what  I 
mean.  You  know  all  we  fellows  adore  you,  and  do 
not  consider  your  friendship  at  all  harmful;  but  a  man 
like  Manning  looks  upon  things  very  differently  from 
what  we  do.  He  thinks  all  women,  with  the  exception 
of  a  very  few,  are  pure  and  good,  while  we  know  it  is 
only  the  few  who  are  good." 

"What  is  it  you  wish  me  to  do,  and  how  am  I  to  be 
paid?"  asked  Violet,  in  a  business-like  tone. 

"That  I  leave  to  your  ingenuity,"  answered  Harold. 
"I  don't  care  what  you  do  or  what  methods  you  use; 
only  compromise  him, — lower  him  in  the  estimation  of 
those  who  are  now  inclined  to  think  him  perfection. 
Destroy  his  self-conceit  in  his  own  righteousness,"  he 
fairly  hissed  the  words  in  his  anger. 

Violet  laughed  at  his  vehemence.  "I  think  there 
must  be  some  fair  lady  that  this  young  paragon  has 
gained  favor  with.  You  are  jealous  and  you  wish  him 
disgraced  in  her  eyes.  What  are  you  going  to  pay  me 
for  removing  him  from  your  path?" 

"I  will  pay  you  ten  thousand  dollars  if  you  will  send 
him  back  to  his  western  home,  a  ruined,  disgraced 
man.  You  have  done  this  for  others,  and  for  no  such 
reward  as  I  offer  you." 


52 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

"Well,  I  will  think  it  over,"  said  Violet.  "What  if 
I  should  fall  in  love  with  him  and  marry  him  ?  Would 
that  do  equally  as  well?" 

"Yes,"  replied  Harold,  "I  will  pay  you  the  ten 
thousand  whether  you  become  his  wife  or  mistress. 
Now  I  will  leave  you  to  think  up  some  scheme  to  entrap 
him,  and  the  sooner  you  get  to  work,  the  better  it  will 
please  me,"  and  he  left  her. 

Violet  arose,  and  crossing  the  room,  she  stood  before  a 
full  length  mirror  and  calmly  surveyed  herself.  She 
nodded  with  a  smile  at  the  beautiful  figure  reflected  in 
the  glass.  "Yes,  you  are  a  very  beautiful  woman,  and 
as  Harold  Graham  says,  '  no  man  can  resist  you  if  you 
will  it  otherwise.'  I  don't  believe  I  shall  relish  the  job 
Harold  is  so  anxious  for  me  to  undertake.  I  am  afraid 
he  is  too  good  to  be  interesting.  If  I  should  ever  fall 
in  love,  it  would  be  with  Lucifer  himself;  but  I  have 
lived  all  these  years  without  the  tender  passion,  and  I 
guess  my  heart  is  too  callous  by  this  time  for  Cupid's 
darts  to  penetrate.  Ten  thousand  is  a  big  temptation. 
Perhaps  if  I  stated  the  case  to  him,  he  would  give  me 
more  to  let  him  alone,"  and  Violet  laughed  at  the  idea. 


53 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

THE  COACHING  PARTY. 

A  gay  party  of  young  people  were  gathered  at  Dora's, 
a'l  equipped  for  a  coaching  party.  There  were  Edith 
and  Jennie  Dunlap  and  their  brother,  Wallace,  Philip 
Manning,  and  Adolphus. 

" I  do  wish  Harold  Graham  would  hurry  up;  we  ought 
to  have  started  an  hour  ago,"  and  Jennie  pressed  her 
face  against  the  window-pane  in  the  endeavor  to  catch 
a  glimpse  of  the  delinquent.  "There  he  comes,"  she 
exclaimed,  rushing  to  the  door. 

Down  the  street  came  the  coach,  a  big,  roomy  affair, 
drawn  by  four  bay  horses,  in  silver-mounted  harness 
and  nodding  plumes.  On  the  driver's  seat  was 
Harold  in  coaching  costume,  holding  in  one  hand 
the  reins,  while  with  the  other  he  cracked  the  long 
whip. 

"  May  I  sit  up  there  with  you,  Harold  ?  "  asked  Jennie, 
in  a  coaxing  tone. 

"You  may,  unless  Dora  would  like  to;  I  had  reserved 
the  seat  for  her,"  and  he  looked  appealingly  at  her  as 
she  appeared,  followed  by  the  others. 

"No,  thank  you,"  Dora  replied,  laughingly.  "I 
always  feel  as  though  I  were  going  to  fall  over  on  top  of 
the  horses  when  I  am  up  there." 

"Are  you  sure  the  horses  are  safe,  Harold  ?  "  anxiously 
inquired  Mrs.  Hutchinson  from  the  door. 

54 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

"Oh,  yes,"  Harold  assured  her.  "Two  of  them 
belong  to  me  and  are  as  steady  as  old  farm  horses.  The 
other  two  are  a  little  frisky,  but  a  few  miles,  drive  will 
curb  them  down  all  right." 

Manning  had  been  petting  and  admiring  the  horses. 
They  were  handsome  and  well  matched.  He  did  not 
like  the  actions  of  one  of  the  forward  horses,  which 
seemed  nervous  and  high-strung;  but  he  made  no 
comments  for  fear  of  alarming  the  ladies. 

Jennie  climbed  up  to  a  seat  by  the  side  of  Harold, 
and  the  others  arranged  themselves  with  light-hearted 
laughter  and  gay  words.  Their  destination  was  a  place 
ten  miles  distant,  a  famous  seaside  resort,  where  they 
would  get  a  shore  dinner,  and  return  in  time  for  a 
musicale  at  the  Hutchinsons'. 

What  is  more  delightful  than  a  spin  along  country 
roads  on  a  fine  October  day,  when  the  air  is  invigorating, 
and  the  leaves  in  their  autumnal  beauty  of  scarlet  and 
gold? 

Dora  sparkled  with  life  and  fun.  She  and  Edith 
kept  the  crowd  laughing  with  their  ready  wit.  Wallace 
was  as  gay  and  frolicsome  as  a  boy  of  sixteen.  Adolphus 
held  his  cane  between  his  knees,  and  occasionally 
ejaculated,  "By  George."  Philip  Manning  was  the 
quietest  of  the  group,  but  his  brown  eyes  twinkled  and 
he  thoroughly  enjoyed  the  fun. 

Harold  had  all  he  could  do  to  manage  his  four-in- 
hand.  Jennie  chattered  away,  indifferent  as  to  whether 
she  was  heard  or  answered. 

On  they  sped  out  of  the  city,  into  the  country  roads, 
past   farms   and    orchards.      Several    times    Harold 


55 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

stopped  to  allow  the  girls  to  gather  golden-rod,  berries, 
or  bright-colored  leaves.  At  last  they  reached  the 
hotel  and  ordered  dinner. 

"I  was  never  so  hungry  in  all  my  life,"  cried  Jennie. 

After  dinner  they  took  a  sail  upon  the  water  and  then 
started  for  home,  just  as  the  sun  sank  behind  the  hills. 
Philip  offered  to  drive,  but  Harold  declined,  saying  that 
it  took  an  experienced  hand  to  drive  a  four-in-hand. 
Philip  bit  his  lip  but  made  no  reply,  although  he  might 
have  told  him  that  he  had  driven  four-in-hands  all  his 
life;  but  he  would  have  had  also  to  acknowledge  that 
it  was  in  drawing  big  loads  of  wood  and  grain. 

The  homeward  journey  was  not  so  pleasant.  It  was 
growing  dark  and  cold.  The  girls  drew  their  wraps 
about  them,  while  Wallace  told  wolf  stories,  until  they 
imagined  every  dog  they  saw  was  a  wolf. 

"There  comes  one,"  cried  Jennie,  as  a  dark,  shaggy 
animal  bounded  swiftly  towards  them  with  sharp,  shrill 
barks.  It  sprang  in  the  face  of  one  of  the  horses.  The 
horses  shied,  leaped  to  one  side  and  then  dashed  on. 
The  dog  followed,  springing  at  the  horse  at  intervals. 
The  coach  swayed  and  frightened  the  girls.  Harold 
tried  to  drive  the  dog  away  with  his  whip,  but  this  only 
infuriated  the  animal  and  made  matters  worse.  At 
last,  Manning  drew  a  revolver  and  taking  aim,  fired  at 
the  dog.  It  gave  one  leap  into  the  air,  then  rolled  upon 
the  ground,  while  the  now  thoroughly  frightened  horses 
dashed  on. 

"Let  me  take  the  lines,"  said  Manning,  "I  am 
stronger  than  you.  I  can  bring  them  down."  But 
Harold  sullenly  refused,  while  he  pulled  and  sawed  at 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

the  horses  until  they  seemed  all  in  a  heap.  Manning 
watched  them  anxiously.  He  saw  Harold  was  making 
no  headway  with  them,  and  soon  they  would  come  to  a 
sharp  curve  in  the  road,  and  if  they  were  not  stopped 
before  it  was  reached,  the  coach  would  be  overturned. 
He  made  his  way  to  the  front  of  the  coach  and  said  in 
earnest  tones,  "Let  me  have  the  lines,  Graham,  or  we 
shall  be  thrown  out  and  perhaps  killed." 

"For  God's  sake,  let  Manning  have  the  lines,"  cried 
Wallace. 

"Not  if  I  drive  you  all  to  perdition,"  answered 
Harold,  angrily. 

Dora  now  spoke  in  a  clear,  firm  voice,  "  For  shame, 
Harold  Graham,  let  Mr.  Manning  take  the  reins." 

"Oh,  please  do,  Harold,"  cried  Jennie,  climbing  over 
the  back  of  the  seat. 

Philip  sprang  into  her  place  and  seized  the  reins  from 
Harold's  reluctant  hands.  Bracing  himself,  he  pulled 
steadily  and  firmly  on  the  two  forward  horses  until  they 
almost  sat  down  upon  their  haunches.  He  then 
gradually  relinquished  the  strain,  and  they  settled  down 
to  a  walk. 

"By  George,"  exclaimed  Adolphus,  in  trembling 
tones,  "that  fellow  must  have  muscle." 

"He  has  saved  our  lives,"  said  Wallace,  wiping  his 
brow. 

Edith  was  almost  hysterical  and  Jennie  was  crying. 
Dora  was  the  only  calm  one,  although  she  was  very  pale. 

Manning  handed  the  lines  back  to  Harold,  who  took 
them  without  a  word,  while  in  the]1  depths  of  his  angry 
heart  he  muttered,  "One  more  score  to  wipe  out." 


57 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

The  remainder  of  the  drive  was  a  quiet  one,  and  all 
were  glad  when  they  drew  up  in  front  of  Dora's  home, 
where  they  could  alight  on  terra  firma  once  more. 

Manning  hastened  to  the  hotel  to  change  his  coaching 
costume  for  one  of  evening  wear.  As  he  ran  up  the  steps 
into  the  corridor,  he  saw  coming  towards  him  a  beautiful 
young  girl  with  a  basket  of  flowers  upon  her  arm.  Her 
slight,  graceful  form  was  half  concealed  by  a  long, 
flowing  cape,  the  hood  drawn  over  her  head,  framing  a 
beautiful  face,  surrounded  by  golden  hair.  As  she  drew 
near  Manning,  she  lifted  her  big  blue  eyes,  and,  with  a 
smile  that  showed  her  small  white  teeth,  offered  him 
a  bunch  of  violets.  He  took  them  and  gave  her  a  silver 
dollar.  She  searched  in  her  pocket  for  the  change  while 
Philip  gazed  in  admiration  at  her  beautiful  face.  He 
was  a  great  admirer  of  blondes;  his  mother  had  been  a 
blonde  and  Dora  was  a  blonde.  The  flower  girl  at  last 
found  the  correct  amount  and  gave  it  to  him  with  a 
charming  blush  and  a  lowering  of  the  golden  lashes. 
Then  she  vanished,  leaving  behind  her  the  fragrance  of 
violets  and  the  memory  of  a  beautiful  face.  Philip 
passed  on  to  his  room,  and  when  he  emerged  again,  he 
wore  a  bunch  of  violets  pinned  upon  his  coat. 

That  evening,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Hutchinson  showered 
him  with  thanks  and  blessings  for  his  brave  act  in  curb- 
ing the  frightened  horses  and  perhaps  saving  their 
daughter's  life.  It  was  embarrassing  to  Philip.  He 
tried  to  make  light  of  it,  but  they  would  not  let  him; 
and  in  spite  of  himself  made  a  hero  of  him. 

Dora  greeted  him  with  more  than  her  usual  gracious- 
ness,  and  caused  his  heart  to  beat  with  rapture  by  her 

58 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

encouraging  smiles.  Harold  was  plainly  in  disgrace, 
although  he  persisted  that  he  was  just  getting  the 
horses  under  control,  when  Manning  interfered,  taking 
the  lines,  and  getting  the  praise  for  subduing  them. 

Jennie  had  recovered  her  spirits,  and  was  giving  a 
comical  account  of  Adolphus's  fright,  for  fear  he  should 
be  dropped  into  a  mud  puddle  and  spoil  his  new  fall 
overcoat.  Adolphus  smiled  good-naturedly.  He  was 
so  used  to  being  chaffed  by  the  young  people,  that  he 
never  took  offence.  He  would  stand  any  amount  of 
ridicule  or  teasing  from  Jennie,  whom  he  greatly  ad- 
mired and  some  day  expected  to  ask  to  become  Mrs. 
Adolphus  Carlton. 

That  night,  after  the  last  guest  had  departed,  Dora 
and  her  parents  sat  and  talked  of  the  day's  adventure. 

"That  young  Manning  is  one  of  the  finest  young  men 
I  ever  met,"  said  Mr.  Hutchinson.  "I  liked  him  the 
first  moment  I  set  eyes  on  him,  and  I  have  liked  him 
better  and  better  every  time  I  have  met  h'm.  I  shall 
end  in  loving  him  like  a  son,"  and  he  glanced  over  at 
his  daughter  with  a  knowing  look. 

Dora  blushed  and  laughed,  "I  wish  he  were  your 
son,"  she  said,  "then  he  would  be  my  big  brother,  and 
I  have  always  wanted  a  brother." 

"It  all  depends  on  you,  my  daughter,  whether  he  is 
ever  my  son  or  not,"  said  Mr.  Hutchinson. 

"I  don't  know  about  that,"  said  Dora,  "it  takes  two 
to  make  a  bargain.  I  might  be  willing  and  he  might 
not.    Perhaps  he  has  a  sweetheart  in  the  West." 

"I  don't  believe  anything  of  the  kind,"  said  her 
father.     "But  he  is  a  mighty  fine  fellow,  and  will  make 


59 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

some  girl  a  husband  to  be  proud  of,  whether  it  is  my 
girl  or  some  other  one." 

Dora  laughed  and  yawned,  and  rising  she  kissed  her 
parents  good-night  and  went  to  her  room. 

That  night  Dora  dreamed  that  she  was  riding  in  a 
beautiful  chariot  drawn  by  four  white  horses,  driven 
by  Harold  Graham.  At  first,  all  was  sunshine  and 
beauty,  but  soon  a  black  cloud  appeared  and  spread 
across  the  azure  sky,  blotting  out  the  sunshine.  She 
grew  cold  and  miserable.  It  thundered  and  lightened, 
and  the  rain  fell  in  torrents,  and  the  beautiful,  white 
horses  were  covered  with  mud.  She  awoke  with  a  shud- 
der, glad  to  find  herself  in  her  own  warm,  comfortable 
bed.  "lam  afraid  a  life  with  Harold  would  end  just 
that  way,"  she  sighed.  "Roses  and  sunshine  at  first, 
and  then  the  thunderstorm  of  after-life." 

Again  she  slept,  and  dreamed  that  she  was  wandering 
in  a  dense  forest.  She  was  weary  and  footsore,  and 
about  to  lie  down  and  die  of  wretchedness  and  despair, 
when  a  beautiful,  golden-haired  woman  came,  and 
taking  her  by  the  hand,  led  her  out  of  the  forest  into  a 
broad,  sunny  path,  and  coming  to  meet  them  was  Philip 
Manning,  his  tender  brown  eyes  filled  with  love  and 
pity.  The  beautiful  woman  placed  Dora's  hand  in 
Philip's  and  spreading  great  snowy  wings  soared  away, 
until  the  white  clouds  hid  her  from  their  view. 

"Well,  this  is  certainly  a  night  of  strange  dreams," 
exclaimed  Dora,  upon  waking  the  second  time,  "Per- 
haps I  shall  dream  of  Wallace  or  Adolphus  next,"  and 
she  drew  the  pillow  down  and  nestled  her  cheek  in  its 
downy  depths. 

60 


CHAPTER  IX. 

A  MUTUAL  AGREEMENT. 

Philip  had  often  thought  of  the  beautiful  flower  girl, 
and,  when  entering  the  corridor,  his  eyes  would  glance 
down  the  long  hall,  expecting  to  see  a  slender,  black- 
robed  figure,  with  golden  hair  and  big  blue  eyes;  but 
days  passed  by  and  she  did  not  come.  The  vision  grew 
dimmer  until  it  had  nearly  vanished  from  his  memory 
when  one  evening  it  burst  upon  him  again.  There  she 
was,  coming  towards  him,  her  basket  upon  her  arm. 
Philip  stopped,  expecting  her  to  smile  and  offer  her 
violets  for  sale;  but  she  did^not  appear'to  notice  him, 
and  was  about  toTpass  by,  when  something  in  her 
face  attracted  his  'attention.  She  looked  pale  her 
eyes  were  downcast,  and  there  was  a  pathetic  droop 
to  the  pretty  mouth.  His  sympathetic  nature  was 
aroused  and  he  accosted  her,  "Have  you  no  flowers  to 
sell?"  he  asked. 

She  stopped  and  raised  her  lovely  eyes,  and  he  saw 
they  were  full  of  tears. 

"Yes,"  she  said,  wearily,  "I  have  had  them  to  sell  all 
day,  but  no  one  seems  to  want  them.  I  have  not  sold 
enough  to  buy  my  supper,"  and  her  lips  quivered. 

Beauty  in  distress  always  stirs  the  chivalry  in  men's 
breasts,  and  especially  so  in  Philip's,  as  he  was  sym- 
pathetic and  impressionable.  He  selected  two  bunches 
of  violets  and  gave  her  a  bill.    When  she  said  she  had 

61 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

no  change,  he  told  her  to  keep  it,  and  bring  him  a 
bunch  of  violets  every  day,  as  they  were  his  favorite 
flower. 

Her  face  lit  up  with  joy.  She  seized  his  hand  and 
pressed  it  to  her  lips,  and,  with  a  "  God  bless  you,"  sped 
away,  leaving  Philip  blushing  like  a  girl  and  gazing 
at  the  hand  she  had  touched  with  her  soft,  warm  lips. 
As  he  turned  to  enter  his  room,  he  saw  Wallace  Dunlap 
coming  towards  him.  He  had  always  liked  Wallace, 
and  often  sighed  as  he  thought  how  the  companionship 
of  such  men  as  Graham  and  DeVere  were  influencing 
him  toward  evil  ways  and  blasting  his  young  manhood. 

Wallace  grasped  his  arm  in  his  familiar,  boyish  way. 
"Were  you  going  out?"  he  asked.  "If  not,  I  want  to 
talk  with  you  a  few  moments,  if  you  don't  object." 

"Come  right  in,"  replied  Philip,  cordially.  "I  have 
plenty  of  leisure  and  shall  be  glad  of  your  company," 
and  he  led  the  way  into  the  room. 

Wallace  threw  himself  into  a  big,  easy  chair  and, 
clasping  his  hands  back  of  his  head,  gazed  moodily  out 
of  the  window.  His  usual,  bright,  happy  expression 
was  changed  to  an  anxious,  worried  look.  Philip  saw 
something  was  wrong  and  waited  for  him  to  unburden 
himself. 

"Manning  I  am  in  a  deuce  of  a  fix,"  exclaimed 
Wallace,  at  last,  "and  I  have  come  to  you  for  help,  as  I 
know  no  one  else  to  go  to." 

"You  know  I  shall  be  glad  to  help  you  if  it  is  within 
my  power,"  answered  Philip,  heartily. 

"I  know  you  are  a  generous,  good-hearted  fellow, 
Manning,  worth  a  dozen  of  such  no-account  fellows  as 


62 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

myself.  I  wish  I  had  the  courage  to  brace  up  and  be 
more  like  you.    I  am  disgusted  with  myself." 

"What  is  to  hinder  you  from  bracing  up  if  you  have 
the  inclination?"  said  Philip.  "Youth  is  the  time  to 
throw  off  the  yoke  before  it  becomes  too  burdensome. 
Now  is  the  time  for  you  to  take  a  stand  for  the  right." 

"Oh,  that  is  very  well  for  a  fellow  like  you;  but  if  a 
young  rake  like  myself  tries  it,  he  brings  all  kinds  of 
ridicule  upon  his  head  from  his  associates.  They  make 
life  a  burden  to  him.  But  I  swear  if  I  ever  get  out  of 
this  scrape,  I  will  draw  in  a  little  and  settle  down." 

"What  is  your  trouble ? "  asked  Philip.  "  If  I  am  to 
help  you,  you  must  tell  me  all  about  it." 

"Well,  the  trouble  is  just  this.  I  owe  DeVere  six 
thousand  dollars,  and  I  have  not  a  cent  in  the  world  but 
the  allowance  my  father  gives  me — and  I  keep  that  used 
up  as  fast  as  it  comes.  I  had  a  quarrel  with  DeVere 
last  night — and  I  guess  I  said  some  pretty  saucy  things, 
for  he  got  white  about  the  mouth,  and  told  me  he  would 
give  me  just  three  days  to  raise  what  I  owed  him, 
or  he  would  go  to  my  father  and  collect  it.  Now,  it 
would  just  break  the  old  man  all  up  if  he  knew  I  owed 
so  much,  and  if  mother  knew — "  He  drew  his  hand 
across  his  eyes  and  almost  broke  down. 

Philip  looked  perplexed.  "How  could  you  possibly 
owe  any  one  man  such  an  amount?  What  have  you 
done  with  the  money?" 

"I  can  hardly  realize  that  I  have  had  that  amount," 
sighed  Wallace.  "It  has  been  like  this.  The  boys  at 
the  club  would  have  a  supper,  each  one  to  chip  in  his 
share.     Often,  I  would  be  short  and  DeVere  would  pay 

63 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

the  deficiency,  charging  it  up  to  me.  I  have  bet  at  the 
races,  I  have  gambled,  I  have  made  presents  of  jewelry, 
and  I  have  borrowed  from  DeVere  when  I  could  not 
pay  up.  He  has  always  said  it  was  only  a  trifle,  that  I 
could  pay  up  any  time  at  my  own  convenience,  so  I  have 
not  worried  but  let  it  drift  along.  But  last  night  aftei 
he  had  won  two  hundred  from  me,  I  got  spunky  and 
called  him  an  old  cheat.  He  demanded  the  payment  of 
his  bill.  I  asked  the  amount,  expecting  he  would  tell 
me  about  twenty-five  hundred;  but  when  he  said  six 
thousand,  I  was  confounded,  and  told  him  it  was  im- 
possible I  could  owe  him  such  an  amount,  but  he  coolly 
showed  me  the  items  with  compound  interest  added. 
It  was  a  stunner,  I  assure  you,  and  how  in  the  devil  I 
am  to  pay  it,  I  don't  know,  unless  I  can  borrow  the 
amount  from  you,"  and  he  looked  beseechingly  at 
Philip. 

"Six  thousand  is  a  large  sum,"  said  Philip,  seriously, 
"what  security  will  you  give  me?" 

"I  can  only  give  you  my  note  and  word  of  honor  to 
pay  you  as  soon  as  I  am  able,"  said  Wallace,  in  a 
crestfallen  tone. 

"I  must  have  more  than  that,"  said  Philip,  calmly. 

"Then  there  is  no  use  in  talking  to  you  any  longer. 
As  I  said,  you  were  my  only  hope,  and  as  you  have  failed 
me,  I  might  as  well  go  and  shoot  myself  first  as  last," 
and  Wallace  staggered  toward  the  door. 

Philip  intercepted  him,  and,  putting  his  arm  about  his 
shoulder,  drew  him  back  into  his  chair  again.  "I  have 
not  refused  to  let  you  have  the  amount.  It  will  depend 
whether  you  will  accept  it  upon  the  conditions  that  I 
shall  require." 

64 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

"1  will  accept  any  conditions/'  cried  Wallace,  eagerly. 
"I  know  you  would  not  ask  anything  unreasonable, 
and  I  certainly  could  not  be  in  any  worse  fix  than 
I  am  at  present,  so  fire  away,  what  are  your 
conditions?" 

"I  am  afraid  you  will  think  them  hard,  but,  as  you 
say,  they  will  not  be  unreasonable,  but  will  be  for  your 
good." 

"  Don't  for  heaven's  sake  ask  me  to  confess  my  sins 
and  join  the  church.  I  draw  the  line  there,"  cried 
Wallace,  tragically. 

"No;  I  won't  ask  that,"  said  Philip,  with  a  laugh. 
4 'Not  that  I  think  it  would  hurt  you.  Yet  I  can  see 
you  are  not  quite  ready  for  it ;  but  I  shall  expect  you  to 
stop  drinking  and  gambling.  Those  two  things  I  shall 
insist  on." 

"  Oh,  I  have  resolved  to  do  that  already,  so  your  terms 
are  not  so  hard  as  I  expected,"  replied  Wallace,  with  a 
relieved  smile. 

"Have  you  ever  made  such  resolutions  before?" 
asked  Philip. 

"Oh,  yes,  a  good  many  times;  but  this  time,  I  am 
resolved  not  to  break  them." 

"Well,  I  shall  not  trust  to  just  a  careless  resolution 
made  under  pressure  of  trouble  that  will  soon  fade  from 
your  memory.  I  shall  draw  up  a  pledge  for  you  to  sign, 
and  if  you  break  the  pledge  you  forfeit  the  amount  1 
loan  you  at  once;  if  you  keep  the  pledge,  you  can  take 
your  own  time  about  paying  me.  I  shall  never  trouble 
you  so  long  as  you  abstain  from  drinking  and  gam- 
bling." 

65 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

Wallace's  face  had  lengthened  perceptibly  while 
Philip  had  been  talking.  "I  don't  mind  pledging  my- 
self not  to  gamble  any  more,  and  not  to  drink  to  excess; 
but  you  don't  want  me  to  give  up  even  a  social  glass  of 
wine  or  champagne,  do  you  ?  I  hate  to  pose  as  a  tem- 
perance man.  I  always  despise  them  as  weak  and 
womanish.  Can't  you  let  up  a  little  on  the  drinks?" 
he  asked,  pleadingly. 

"  No,  Wallace,  there  is  safety  only  in  total  abstinence. 
I  must  save  you  from  yourself.  What  are  a  few  sneers  ? 
It  will  strengthen  your  manhood  to  resist  them.  After 
a  few  weeks,  if  you  persist  in  not  drinking  when  your 
friends  offer  you  the  social  glass,  they  will  soon  let  you 
alone  and  the  battle  will  be  won.  Your  father  will  be 
pleased — although  he  is  not  an  advocate  of  temperance. 
I  know  he  is  feeling  anxious  about  you,  and  your 
mother  will  weep  tears  of  joy — and  you  will  be  saved 
from  a  future  of  degradation  and  misery,  besides  having 
enough  to  settle  your  debts  and  get  out  of  the  clutches 
of  that  villain,  DeVere.  Is  it  not  worth  the  struggle? 
I  think  what  I  ask  of  you  is  very  reasonable,  but  I 
must  make  it  solemnly  binding,  for  you  are  easily 
tempted.  Read  what  I  have  written,  sign  it  and  I 
will  give  you  a  check  for  six  thousand  dollars,"  and 
Manning  passed  a  paper  to  Wallace  on  which  was 
written: 

"I  do  most  solemnly  vow  that  from  this  hour  I  will 
abstain  from  all  intoxicating  drinks;  also  from  gambling. 
For  such  consideration,  I  am  to  receive  a  loan  of  six 
thousand  dollars  from  Philip  Manning,  said  amount  to 
be  paid  at  my  convenience  if  I  keep  this  pledge;  said 


66 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

amount  to  be  paid  at  once  if  I  violate  this  pledge.  So 
help  me  God  and  keep  me  steadfast." 

Wallace  hesitated  and  fingered  the  pen  nervously  for 
a  few  moments,  then  he  drew  the  paper  towards  him 
and  signed  his  name  in  large  bold  characters. 

"There,  the  deed  is  done,"  he  exclaimed.  "It  will 
be  a  tough  fight  for  me  for  a  few  weeks,  I  expect." 

"Thank  you,  Wallace,"  said  Philip,  folding  the  paper 
and  placing  it  in  a  little  cabinet  in  his  desk.  "  You  will 
thank  me  for  this  some  day.  It  will  be  the  making  of 
you." 

"I  do  thank  you,  now,  old  fellow,"  exclaimed 
Wallace,  gratefully.  "You  are  the  only  man  that  ever 
seemed  to  care  whether  I  went  to  the  devil  or  not.  I 
am  going  wo  try  and  not  disappoint  you.  I  feel  like  a 
new  man  already,  with  money  to  free  me  from  a  hateful 
bondage.  I  will  turn  over  a  new  leaf  and  get  out  of 
this  aimless,  frivolous  way  of  spending  my  time.  By 
George;  I  believe  I  will  ask  the  old  man  to  give  me  a 
berth  in  the  office  for  an  hour  or  two  every  day.  He 
would  be  delighted,"  and  Wallace's  eyes  sparkled  in 
anticipation  of  his  father's  pleasure  in  his  reformation. 

He  wrung  Philip's  hand  and  left  the  room  whistling 
merrily  as  he  strode  down  the  hall,  once  more  a  happy, 
light-hearted  boy 


67 


CHAPTER  X. 

A  BEAUTIFUL  INTRUDER. 

Dora  gave  a  vivid  description  of  the  perilous  ride  of 
the  coaching  party  to  her  Aunt  Helen  the  next  morning. 

"I  know  if  Mr.  Manning  had  not  taken  the  lines  just 
as  he  did,  the  coach  would  have  been  upset  going 
around  that  sharp  curve,  and  some  of  us  seriously 
hurt." 

"He  is  certainly  a  noble  young  man,"  said  Aunt 
Helen.  "He  seems  to  be  doing  good  on  all  occasions. 
Has  he  made  up  his  mind  to  stay  in  the  city  this  winter  ?  " 

"Yes;  I  think  so.  He  said  once  that  if  he  could  find 
a  suburban  residence  that  he  thought  would  suit  his 
father  and  sister,  he  would  purchase  it  and  bring  them 
East  to  live  with  him.  I  should  like  to  meet  his  sister, 
Josie.  From  what  he  says,  I  think  she  must  be  a  female 
duplicate  of  himself." 

"I  am  sure  we  should  like  her  then,"  said  Aunt 
Helen,  decidedly. 

"And  the  dreamy  old  father  must  be  very  lovable 
also,"  continued  Dora.  "What  an  ideal  grandpa  he 
would  make,  just  the  kind  children  love  to  climb  all  over 
and  smother  with  caresses." 

"Well,  I  hope  there  will  be  plenty  of  them,  to  do  that 
very  thing,"  laughed  Aunt  Helen.  "And  I  hope  to  live 
to  see  them,  and  if  they  only  call  me  Aunt  Helen,  I 
shall  be  very  happy." 

68 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

"Now,  auntie,  how  you  talk,"  and  Dora  blushed 
rosily,  but  did  not  look  displeased.  The  fact  was,  Dora 
was  very  much  interested  in  the  young  Westerner  and 
was  fast  losing  her  heart  to  him,  although  she  tried  to 
keep  a  strong  grip  on  it  until  it  was  asked  for.  She  had 
no  doubt  about  his  regard  for  her;  she  had  read  ad- 
miration and  love  in  his  expressive  eyes  ever  since 
their  first  meeting.  It  was  only  a  matter  of  time.  He 
would  ask  her  to  be  his  wife  and  she  would  not  say  him 
nay.  Her  heart  beat  at  the  thought.  How  good  and 
true  he  was,  so  manly  and  strong,  a  king  among  men. 
"I  am  so  glad  to  have  never  loved  any  other  man,  and 
I  hope  he  has  never  loved  another  girl." 

"A  penny  for  your  thoughts,"  said  Aunt  Helen,  with 
a  smile  at  the  sweet,  thoughtful  face. 

"Oh,  they  are  worth  more  than  a  penny,"  laughed 
Dora.  "I  don't  believe  I  can  sell  them  at  any 
price." 

Mrs.  Hutchinson  entered  the  room.  "Mr.  Manning 
has  called  with  a  carriage  and  wishes  you  to  go  with 
him  to  inspect  a  place  he  has  heard  of  that  is  for  sale, 
and  if  it  suits  him  he  thinks  of  buying  it;  but  he  wants 
your  opinion,"  and  the  mother  laughed  knowingly  at 
her  lovely  daughter. 

"I  shall  be  delighted  to  help  him  with  my  valuable 
advice,"  laughed  Dora.  "I  will  go  and  get  ready  at 
once,"  and  she  hurried  from  the  room. 

The  two  sisters-in-law  sat  for  a  long  time  talking  of 
the  one  so  dear  to  each.  "I  am  sure  she  likes  him," 
said  Mrs.  Hutchinson,  "although  she  is  shy  about  ad- 
mitting it,  as  any  modest  girl  would  be;  and  it  is  plain 

69 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

enough  to  see  he  loves  her.  They  will  make  an  ideal 
couple.  They  are  both  so  handsome  and  so  good," 
and  Mrs.  Hutchinson  leaned  back  in  her  chair  with  an 
expression  of  great  satisfaction  upon  her  good-natured 
face. 

"I  thought  you  always  favored  Harold  Graham  for 
a  son-in-law,"  said  Aunt  Helen. 

"Well,  I  did  years  ago,  before  he  grew  wild.  He  was 
a  nice  boy,  but  he  has  changed  sadly.  I  do  not  think 
he  would  make  a  wife  very  happy  unless  he  settled  down 
some,  and  Dora  never  cared  for  him  except  as  a  friend. 
I  suppose  the  Grahams  will  be  disappointed.  They 
have  always  looked  upon  Dora  as  Harold's  future 
wife.  But  my  daughter  shall  make  her  own  choice, 
and  I  guess  she  will  choose  all  right,"  and  the  mother 
nodded  complacently. 

Dora  was  soon  dressed  in  a  pretty  tailor-made  costume 
of  dark  blue,  that  fitted  her  slender  form  to  perfection . 
A  hat  of  soft  felt,  with  a  big  silver  buckle  and  blue 
wings,  set  upon  her  golden  hair,  bringing  out  its 
radiance.  With  cheeks  flushed  from  the  hurry  and  ex- 
citement, she  presented  a  lovely  picture  to  the  young 
man  awaiting  her  in  the  drawing  room. 

He  hastened  to  meet  her.  "I  thought  perhaps  you 
would  be  kind  enough  to  take  a  drive  with  me  this 
morning  out  into  the  country.  I  am  going  to  look  at  a 
place  that  is  offered  for  sale,  and  I  want  a  lady's  opinion. 
They  can  see  so  many  things  that  a  man  overlooks." 

"You  should  have  taken  mother  instead  of  me,"  said 
Dora,  roguishly,  "her  opinion  would  be  worth  double 


70 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

"I  shall  be  perfectly  satisfied  if  you  go,"  he  answered, 
with  a  twinkle  in  his  eyes.  So  they  went  down  the 
steps  laughing,  happy  in  each  other's  company. 

It  was  a  cool,  crisp  morning,  the  air  was  invigorating 
and  tinged  their  cheeks  with  nature's  carmine. 

The  distance  of  seven  miles  was  soon  covered.  "  That 
must  be  the  house,"  said  Manning,  pointing  to  a  fine 
country  residence  situated  on  quite  an  eminence. 
They  entered  a  shady  driveway  bordered  by  rows  of 
maples.  The  drive  gradually  ascended  the  hill  and 
approached  the  house  which  was  an  imposing  structure 
of  gray  stone,  nearly  covered  with  ivy.  The  view,  when 
they  reached  the  summit  upon  which  the  house  stood, 
was  a  grand  one,  taking  in  miles  of  the  surrounding 
country.  They  took  a  long  breath  of  delight  when  the 
view  first  burst  upon  them,  and  Manning  removed  his 
hat. 

"One  need  never  have  lung  trouble  here,"  he  ex- 
claimed. 

"It  is  lovely,"  cried  Dora,  enthusiastically.  "How 
beautiful  it  must  be  here  in  summer.  See  how  many 
beds  of  flowers  and  shrubs.  Who  owns  the  place?  I 
should  think  they  would  dislike  to  part  with  it." 

"The  owner  is  a  widow,"  replied  Manning.  "Her 
husband  died  about  a  year  ago.  She  has  one  child,  a 
little  girl  of  five.  She  finds  this  home  too  large  and 
lonesome  for  just  herself  and  child." 

They  had  reached  the  front  entrance,  and,  giving  the 
horse  and  carriage  into  the  care  of  a  groom  who  came 
forward,  they  ascended  the  steps  and  entered  a  broad 
portico.     They  were  met  by  a  tall,  slender  lady  dressed 


7' 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

in  black  and  wearing  a  widow's  cap.  Manning  bowed 
low,  and,  presenting  his  card,  stated  his  errand.  The 
lady  was  both  gracious  and  cordial,  and  invited  them 
into  the  big  hall.  At  the  lower  end  was  a  mammoth 
fireplace  with  great  logs  burning  and  sending  out  a 
cheerful  glow. 

"What  a  splendid  hall,"  said  Dora.  "It  is  as  large 
as  our  drawing  room,  and  that  big  open  fire  is  so  pictur- 
esque and  cheerful.  Just  imagine  a  party  returning 
from  a  long  sleigh  ride;  how  they  would  huddle  around 
the  fireplace.  And  the  big  yule  log  at  Christmas  time. 
Oh,  it  would  be  grand,"  and  her  eyes  sparkled  with 
delight  like  a  child's. 

Manning's  handsome  face  glowed  in  response  to 
Dora's  enthusiasm,  and  he  mentally  resolved  that  it 
should  all  occur  just  as  she  had  imagined  it. 

The  widow  showed  them  through  the  house,  and 
both  Dora  and  Manning  acknowledged  it  was  the  most 
conveniently  and  prettily  arranged  house  they  were 
ever  in.  Dora  wandered  out  into  the  garden  and  left 
Manning  to  make  terms  with  the  widow  with  regard  to 
price  and  other  details.  There  was  much  of  the  heavy 
furniture  and  carpets  which  the  owner  wished  to  sell 
with  the  house,  and  it  brought  the  price  pretty  high, 
but  Manning  was  delighted  with  the  place,  and  knowing 
that  Dora  was  also  pleased  with  it,  he  resolved  to  pur- 
chase, although  it  would  cost  more  than  he  had  ex- 
pected. So  it  was  settled  that  he  was  to  see  the  widow's 
lawyer  in  the  city  and  make  all  satisfactory  arrange- 
ments. He  would  not  want  the  place  until  the  following 
spring,  Philip  told  her,  so  she  could  take  her  time  about 
moving. 

72 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

All  the  way  home,  they  drew  plans  for  beautifying  th« 
place,  and  Dora  smiled  as  she  recalled  their  conversa- 
tion that  night  after  she  had  gone  to  her  room.  How 
little  had  been  said  of  Josie's  likes  and  dislikes.  It  was 
all,  how  would  Dora  like  it  ?  There  was  not  a  happier 
girl  in  the  whole  city  that  night  than  Dora  Hutchinson. 

After  leaving  Dora,  Manning  drove  to  his  hotel, 
sending  his  horse  to  the  stable,  and  going  direct  to  his 
room.  It  was  decidedly  cold,  and  throwing  off  his 
overcoat,  Philip  drew  up  to  the  open  grate.  There  was 
a  happy  smile  on  his  face  as  he  recalled  Dora's  en- 
thusiasm over  the  place  he  was  about  to  purchase.  He 
thought  of  her  as  its  fair  mistress.  How  happy  they 
would  be,  Dora,  Josie,  and  dear  old  dad.  His  heart 
thrilled  with  joy.  His  pleasant  meditations  were  here 
interrupted  by  the  quick  opening  and  shutting  of  his 
door.  He  arose  to  his  feet.  Before  him  stood  the 
beautiful  flower  girl,  her  face  pale  and  agitated. 

"Oh,  forgive  me,"  she  cried,  clasping  her  hands  in  a 
pretty,  imploring  fashion,  "forgive  me  for  entering 
your  room,  but  I  was  pursued  by  a  man.  He  must 
have  been  drinking.  He  tried  to  seize  my  arm  and  I 
ran  in  here." 

"Where  is  he?"  cried  Manning,  striding  toward  the 
door,  a  frown  on  his  brow. 

"Don't,  don't  go  out,"  she  entreated,  seizing  his 
arm.     "Let  him  go.     I  am  safe  now." 

Notwithstanding  her  pleading,  Manning  opened  the 
door  and  gazed  searchingly  up  and  down  the  hall.  No 
one  was  in  sight.  "He  has  gone;  there  is  no  one  in 
sight,"  he  exclaimed,  returning. 


73 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

Violet  had  dropped  upon  the  rug  in  front  of  the  fire 
and  was  warming  her  hands.  Her  hood  had  fallen 
back  and  the  fire-light  fell  upon  her  lovely,  childish  face 
and  golden  hair,  until  she  seemed  more  like  a  fireside 
sprite,  than  a  mortal.  Manning  looked  down  on  the 
girl  from  his  six  foot  height  and  thought  how  childish 
and  pretty  she  was  to  wander  about  unprotected,  liable 
to  receive  insults  from  coarse,  degraded  men.  His 
heart  filled  with  pity.  He  wished  she  were  a  sister  or 
even  a  cousin  of  his,  that  he  might  cherish  and  protect 
her;  but  she  was  only  a  stranger,  a  poor  flower  girl 
earning  a  scanty  living  by  the  sale  of  flowers.  She 
gazed  up  ;.t  him  from  her  lowly  position  and  said, 
na  vely : 

"What  a  lovely  fire.  It  must  be  nice  to  be  rich  and 
always  have  a  good  fire.  You  don't  know  what  it  is  to 
be  cold  and  poor,"  and  she  sighed,  drooping  her  sweet 
face. 

"Yes,  I  know  it  must  be  very  hard,"  he  answered,  his 
tender  brown  eyes  hinng  with  sympathy  and  pity. 
"Have  you  no  brother,  —  no  relatives  to  care  for 
you?' 

"No,"  she  answered,  sadly,  shaking  her  head;  "no 
one  to  care  for  me.  My  parents  are  both  dead.  I 
never  had  any  brothers  or  sisters,  and  but  few  relatives, 
poor  like  myself,  with  the  exception  of  an  aunt  who  is 
quite  comfor.ably  fixed;  but  she  was  not  good  friends 
with  mamma  and  does  not  want  me.  She  mav  leave 
me  a  little  when  she  dies,  as  her  only  hVng  relative." 

"  I  wish  I  could  help  you  in  some  way,"  said  Manning, 
eagerly.    "Tell  me  how  I  can  help  you?" 

74 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

She  lifted  her  beautiful  blue  eyes  and  looked  at  him 
long  and  earnest  y.  How  that  gaze  thril  ed  him.  He 
was  seized  with  a  mad  longing  to  pick  her  up  in  his 
strong  arms  and  kiss  the  sweet  lips. 

She  got  up  with  a  slow,  reluctant  motion,  and  said: 
"I  must  be  going.  You  have  been  very  kind  to  me 
and  I  thank  you."  She  drew  the  hood  over  her  head 
and  took  up  her  basket. 

"Must  you  go?"  he  cried,  regretfully. 

"Why,  of  course,  I  must,"  she  replied,  with  a  little 
laugh,  "  I  have  stayed  too  long  already.  Good-night," 
and  she  was  gone. 

Manning  stood  in  front  of  the  fire,  gazing  thought- 
fully into  its  ruby  depths.  "What  a  sweet  Httle  thing 
she  is,"  he  exclaimed.  "I  must  speak  to  Dora  about 
her.  Perhaps  she  could  help  her  in  some  way.  If  she 
was  only  a  little  younger  I  believe  I  would  adopt  her." 

to 


75 


CHAPTER  XI. 

A  PROMISED  DRIVE. 

Violet  Devereaux  was  entertaining  Harold  with  a 
description  of  her  intrusion  into  Manning's  room.  "I 
almost  fell  in  love  with  him  when  he  drew  himself  up  so 
tall  and  fierce  and  with  a  frown  strode  to  the  door  to 
annihilate  my  pursuer.  I  think  he  is  the  finest  looking 
man  I  ever  saw;  he  is  so  big  and  strong.  I  adore  big 
men;  and  then  again,  he  is  as  gentle  and  tender  as  a 
woman.  I  was  so  afraid  he  would  see  someone  passing 
in  the  hall  and  attack  them.  Wouldn't  that  have  made 
a  scene?  But,  luckily,  there  was  no  one  in  sight.  I 
made  sure  of  that  before  I  entered." 

"Are  you  making  any  progress  with  him?"  asked 
Harold,  anxiously. 

"Well,  I  am  not  so  sure.  I  know  he  admires  me. 
He  watches  for  my  coming  and  seems  glad  to  see  me. 
He  would  like  to  help  me,  but  it  would  have  to  be  all 
proper  and  honorable.  His  innocence  is  his  shield. 
He  has  never  seen  or  heard  much  of  the  dark  side  of 
city  life,  and  as  you  say,  '  women  are  all  angels  to  him.' 
It  is  hard  to  deal  with  a  man  like  that.  It  is  going  to  be 
a  harder  job  than  I  had  anticipated.  Oh!  the  lies  I 
have  to  tell  him  of  my  poverty  and  trials  as  a  poor 
flower  "girl.  It  almost  frightens  me.  I  don't  mind 
telling  a  little  fib  now  and  then,  but  to  make  a  whole- 
sale business  of  it  is  appalling,  and  he  believes  it  all. 

76 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

Oh,  dear  me;  what  a  wicked  wretch  I  am,"  and  Violet 
assumed  a  comical  air  of  sorrow  and  contrition. 

"If  there  is  such  a  thing  as  future  punishment," 
Violet  continued,  "they  will  have  to  invent  some  new 
method  of  torture  to  balance  all  my  sins.  I  never  knew 
I  had  a  conscience  until  I  made  the  acquaintance  of 
Philip  Manning.  Now  if  I  end  by  falling  in  love  with 
him,  what  will  become  of  me,  burdened  with  both  a 
heart  and  a  conscience.  I  have  half  a  mind  to  back 
out  when  he  fixes  those  big,  clear  brown  eyes  on  me. 
I  feel  like  going  away  and  leaving  him  alone." 

"Now,  Violet,  don't  for  heaven's  sake  be  a  fool," 
said  Harold,  impatiently.  "The  idea  of  your  turning 
soft,  bah!" 

"  Oh,  I  have  a  remnant  of  a  heart  somewhere  about 
me,  although  I  acknowledge  it  doesn't  trouble  me 
much,"  replied  Violet,  a  trifle  bitterly. 

"Of  course,  you  have,  Violet,"  said  Harold,  in  a  con- 
ciliatory tone.  "  Forgive  my  impatience;  but  I  have  so 
much  at  stake,  that  a  hint  of  your  withdrawing  from 
the  game  makes  me  frantic." 

"Oh,  I  shall  not  withdraw.  The  man  piques  me. 
He  is  the  first  man  who  ever  withstood  me  so  long.  I 
must  conquer  him  for  my  own  reputation  as  well  as  for 
the  ten  thousand.  Harold,  stop  at  'La  Favorita's'  on 
your  way  down  town,  and  invite  the  boys  and  girls  up. 
We  will  have  a  bang-up  supper  and  a  frolic — one  of  the 
good  old  times;  perhaps  I  will  dance  for  you  if  I  feel 
good-natured." 

"As  though  you  were  ever  anything  else,"  answered 
Harold,  gallantly.    "I  wish  you  would  dance  'The 


77 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

Siren ■  tonight.  I  am  going  to  bring  up  a  friend  or  two, 
and  you  are  so  ravishingly  beautiful  in  that  dance. 
You  can  dance  a  man's  soul  right  out  of  his  body, 
Violet,"  said  Harold,  enthusiastically.  "You  ought  to 
dance  for  Manning.  He  could  not  withstand  'The  Siren.' 
You  can  beat  'Salome*  of  biblical  fame  all  to  pieces." 

Violet  laughed,  pleased  at  Harold's  flattery,  which 
she  knew  was  sincere.  "  Perhaps  I  may  dance  my  way 
into  his  heart  yet,  who  knows.  What  has  become  of 
Wallace  Dunlap  ?  He  has  not  called  on  me  for  several 
weeks." 

"  Oh,  he  has  gone  over  to  the  enemy,"  replied  Harold, 
grimly.  "He  has  been  plucked  like  a  brand  from  the 
burning,  by  St.  Manning." 

"Is  that  so?"  and  Violet  opened  her  big  blue  eyes  in 
astonishment  and  dismay.  "  That's  a  shame.  Wallace 
was  such  a  gay,  fun-loving  fellow,"  and  Violet's  face 
lengthened  wofully.  "Why  didn't  he  rescue  DeVere 
or  Carlton,  or  some  other  old  stick,  and  leave  Wallace 
alone." 

"That  is  what  I  think,"  grumbled  Harold.  "I  miss 
Wallace  at  the  club.  He  seldom  comes  now.  Oh,  the 
amount  of  mischief  that  western  fellow  has  done  in  the 
short  time  he  has  been  here." 

Violet  laughed.  "Oh,  those  goody-goodies,  what 
trouble  they  do  make.  But  it  is  time  I  metamorphosed 
myself  into  a  flower  girl.  If  you  will  wait  a  few  mo- 
ments, I  will  show  you  'Violet,  the  flower  girl',"  and  she 
left  the  room. 

Only  a  short  time  had  elapsed  when  the  door 
opened  and  admitted  a  slender,  dark-robed  figure,  who 


78 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

advanced  in  a  shy,  modest  manner  and  presented  her 
violets  for  sale. 

"I  never  should  have  recognized  you,"  cried  Harold, 
in  delight.  "You  look  like  a  sweet,  modest  little  violet 
yourself.  You  are  charming.  No  wonder  Manning 
watches  for  you.  You  are  just  the  girl  to  take  his  fancy. 
I  think  if  you  play  your  cards  right  you  can  become 
Mrs.  Manning  if  you  choose." 

"I  don't  think  I  want  to  marry  him,"  said  Violet,  in  a 
meditative  tone.  "He  would  make  a  charming  lover, 
but  I  am  afraid  I  should  tire  of  so  much  goodness  in  a 
husband,  and  husbands  are  not  as  easily  disposed  of 
as  lovers." 

"You  wicked  little  puss,  you,"  laughed  Harold.  "I 
don't  believe  you  have  got  a  flesh  and  blood  heart.  I 
believe  it  is  some  metal  arrangement." 

"  Brass;  I  reckon,"  answered  Violet,  merrily.  "  Well, 
wish  me  good  luck.  I  must  go  and  give  my  big,  brown- 
eyed  baby  his  violets.  Au  revoir,"  and  she  flitted  from 
the  room. 

Violet  pulled  the  hood  well  over  her  face.  She  did 
not  wish  to  be  recognized  by  any  of  her  admirers,  as 
this  little  masquerading  was  a  secret  between  herself 
and  Harold.  She  was  hurrying  down  the  avenue  when 
her  attention  was  attracted  to  a  handsome  carriage 
drawn  by  a  span  of  bay  horses,  and  the  driver  was 
Philip  Manning.  Seated  by  his  side  was  a  beautiful, 
stylish  young  lady,  costumed  in  the  height  of  fashion. 
They  seemed  very  much  interested  in  each  other,  and 
the  lady  was  apparently  listening  with  a  gracious  smile 
upon  her  lips.    Violet  watched  them  out  of  sight,  a 


79 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

strange,  unfamiliar  ache  in  her  heart.  Who  was  this 
girl  who  dared  to  smile  up  into  Philip  Manning's  face 
like  that  ?  And  he  looked  happy,  as  though  he  enjoyed 
it.  Her  throat  felt  swollen  and  dry  as  though  she  were 
choking.  "I  believe  I  am  jealous,"  she  cried,  hyster- 
ically. "Oh,  I  knew  I  was  playing  with  fire,  and  the 
bolt  has  entered  my  own  heart  to  scorch  and  torment 
me,  unless  I  can  win  him.  I  must  win  him.  She  shall 
not  have  him.  Philip,  my  king!  I  never  desired  the 
love  of  any  man  before.  I  have  always  spurned  love." 
Her  breath  came  in  convulsive  sobs  as  she  hurried  on. 
She  knew  he  would  go  to  his  hotel  soon  and  would  be 
watching  for  her.  "  Oh,  God,  help  me  to  win  him," 
she  cried,  passionately.  "I  will  make  myself  worthy  of 
him.  I  will  give  up  my  reckless  life.  I  will  be  all  he 
could  desire,  if  he  will  only  love  me.  I  am  young;  I  can 
redeem  my  past  sins."  An  hour  later  she  entered  the 
corridor  of  the  hotel.  Yes,  there  he  was  at  the  door  of 
his  room  smiling  at  her.  She  felt  shy  and  embarrassed, 
totally  unlike  herself.    Her  heart  beat  strangely. 

"I  was  afraid  I  should  not  return  in  time  to  see  you," 
he  said,  gaily.  "  Have  you  sold  all  your  violets  ?  Only 
two  bunches  left.  I  will  take  them  both,"  and  he 
handed  her  the  money.  Violet  felt  like  throwing  the 
money  at  his  feet,  she  felt  so  humiliated;  but  she  took  it 
and  gave  him  the  flowers,  while  her  eyes  wistfully 
searched  his  face. 

"Why  do  you  look  so  sad?"  enquired  Philip,  kindly. 
"Have  you  been  unsuccessful  in  your  sales  to-day?" 

"Oh,  no,"  replied  Violet,  with  a  little  fluttering  sigh. 
"I  have  sold  all  my  flowers;  I  was  only  thinking." 

80 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

"  Thinking  of  what  ?  "  asked  Philip,  with  a  smile.  "It 
must  be  something  dismal  to  cloud  your  usually  sunny 
face  so." 

11 1  am  afraid  you  will  laugh  if  I  tell  you,"  said  Violet, 
with  pretty  reluctance. 

"Try  me  and  see,"  he  replied.   ;; 

"Well,  I  was  thinking  how  she  had  all  and  I  had 
nothing." 

"Is  that  an  enigma?"  asked  Philip.  "I  am  not 
good  at  guessing  them.  Who  is  she,  and  what  has  she 
that  you  have  not  ?  " 

"  She  is  the  lady  I  saw  driving  with  you  this  afternoon. 
She  has  money,  pretty  dresses  and  friends,  and  you 
take  hereto  drive.  I  have  none  of  these,  and  I  was 
thinking,  suppose  I  had  money  and  pretty  dresses, 
would  you  take  me  to  drive?"  and  her  eyes  searched  his 
face  eagerly. 

"Why,  perhaps  I  might,"  he  replied,  embarrassed 
by  the  question. 

Violet  noticed  his  embarrassment  and  resented  it. 
"Well,  I  have  neither  the  one  nor  the  other.  I  am  a 
poor  flower  girl,  so  you  will  not  have  to  take  me,"  she 
said,  bitterly.  "  Only  I  never  went  to  drive  in  a  carriage. 
My  only  rides  are  in  street  cars  or  omnibuses."  She 
sighed  like  a  grieved  child  and  was  turning  away  when 
he  called  her  back. 

"I  will  take  you  to  drive,"  he  said,  with  a  smile,  "if 
it  will  give  you  so  much  pleasure." 

"Do  you  really  mean  it?"  and  she  grasped  his  arm 
in  her  eagerness. 

"Yes;  I  mean  it,"  he  answered.  "When  would  you 
like  to  go,  tomorrow  ?  " 

81 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

She  gasped  for  breath,  speechless  with  joy.  "Will 
you  take  me  in  the  same  carriage  you  took  her?"  she 
asked,  eagerly. 

"Yes,"  he  replied,  smiling  at  her  childish  delight. 
"Shall  it  be  tomorrow?  And  where  shall  I  meet  you? 
Shall  I  call  at  your  home?" 

"No,  no,"  replied  Violet,  hastily.  "I  don't  want 
you  to  see  how  humbly  I  live.  I  will  meet  you  in  the 
park  at  the  corner  of  Harris  Avenue.  I  promise  you 
shall  not  be  ashamed  of  me.  I  have  better  clothes  than 
these,"  and  she  nodded  her  pretty  head  at  him. 

"AJ1  right,  I  will  meet  you  at  ten  in  the  morning.  You 
shall  have  a  good  long  drive,  and  a  good  dinner  also." 

"Well,  I  must  be  going.  I  shall  have  to  look  over 
my  finery  to  make  myself  presentable  for  tomorrow," 
and  she  laughed  merrily,  showing  her  small  white  teeth 
and  dimples. 

Philip  returned  to  his  room,  whistling  softly  to  him- 
self. "I  am  afraid  it  is  not  quite  the  conventional 
thing  to  do,  but  she  seemed  so  delighted.  I  cannot  see 
any  harm  in  it.  Poor  child,  her  pleasures  have  been  so 
few,  that  if  I  can  add  a  little  sunshine  to  her  gray  young 
life,  I  shall  do  so.  I  wonder  what  Dora  would  say  ?  I 
am  afraid  she  would  not  approve.  I  had  better  not 
say  anything  to  her  about  it.  City  folks  have  straight- 
laced  notions.  Now  in  the  West,  we  could  eat  with  the 
hired  man  or  take  the  hired  girl  to  drive,  and  nothing 
be  thought  of  it.  But  here,  it  is  considered  almost  a 
crime  to  speak  to  a  servant,  unless  giving  an  order. 
Poor  things!  they  are  human,  although  not  treated  as 
such." 

U 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

Wallace  Dunlap  entered  the  room  and  hurried  Philip 
away  with  him.  The  two  young  men  had  become  great 
friends.  Wallace,  since  giving  up  the  social  glass  and 
gambling,  had  found  the  club  somewhat  tiresome,  so 
spent  many  hours  with  his  new  friend.  His  parents 
were  pleased  and  proud  of  the  favorable  change  in  their 
only  son. 

"I  knew  Wallace  would  come  out  all  right,"  said  Mr. 
Dunlap,  complacently.  "All  young  men  have  to  have 
a  frisky  time  before  they  settle  down  and  take  life 
seriously.    Wallace  is  coming  out  all  right." 


JUL 


CHAPTER  XII. 

THE  PLOT  DEEPENS. 

The  day  dawned  bright  and  clear.  Manning  was 
afraid  some  of  the  boys  might  drop  in  and  detain  him, 
so  that  he  could  not  start  at  the  appointed  time.  Wallace 
would  be  sure  to  ask  where  he  was  going,  and  invite 
himself  to  a  drive,  if  he  knew  he  was  going  with  the 
team.  So  he  started  early,  to  avoid  any  visitors  with 
their  unwelcome  questions.  Not  that  there  was  any- 
thing to  be  ashamed  of,  he  told  himself;  but  city  folks 
had  strange  notions.  The  boys  would  look  upon  it 
in  the  light  of  a  flirtation,  and  joke  him  about  it.  They 
could  not  understand,  and  it  would  be  useless  to  ex- 
plain. He  wondered  if  Violet  would  be  provided  with 
sufficient  wraps,  and  threw  a  light  travelling  shawl  over 
his  arm.  It  was  only  a  little  after  nine  when  he  reached 
the  pa  k.  He  drove  about  for  half  an  hour  before  he 
approached  the  Harris  Avenue  entrance.  He  looked 
about  him  for  a  slender,  black-robed  figure,  enveloped 
in  a  cloak  and  hood.  He  did  not  notice  the  stylish 
young  lady  sitting  on  one  of  the  benches,  watching  him 
with  laughing  eyes.  After  he  had  passed  her  twice, 
Violet  raised  the  veil  that  had  concealed  her  face, 
and,  rising,  approached  the  carriage  with  a  merry 
laugh. 

"  Good  morning,  Mr.  Manning,"  she  said,  "were  you 
looking  for  anyone  in  particular?" 

84 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

He  gazed  at  her  in  surprise*and  admiration.  "I  was 
looking  for  a  little  flower  girl  I  had  promised  a  ride  to. 
Have  you  seen  her  anywhere  ?"  he  inquired,  with  a 
smile. 

"Oh,  yes,"  replied  Violet,  gaily;  "she  sent  me  in  her 
place.    Will  you  accept  the  substitute  ?" 

"If  you  think  you  would  enjoy  the  drive  as  well  as 
she  would?"  They  both  laughed  merrily,  and  he 
helped  her  into  the  carriage.  After  they  had  driven 
a  short  distance,  he  turned  and  surveyed  her  in  a 
questioning  way,  "I  don't  understand  the  transforma- 
tion," he  said.  "Are  you  sure  you  are  the  same  girl 
I  promised  the  ride  to  ?  I  don't  know  you  in  that  fine 
costume." 

"I  did  not  want  you  to  be  ashamed  of  me,"  replied 
Violet.  "  Did  you  think  that  old  cloak  and  hood  was 
the  extent  of  my  wardrobe  ?  Those  belong  to  the  trade 
just  as  the  butcher  and  baker  don  their  apron  and  cap, 
so,  Violet,  the  flower  girl,  shields  her  face  and  form 
from  impertinent  glances,  when  selling  flowers.  But 
when  a  gentleman  asks  her  to  ride,  she  dresses  accord- 
ingly. Are  you  disappointed  that  I  did  not  wear  the 
old  cloak  and  hood?" 

"I  am  somewhat,"  he  said,  honestly.  "I  had  an- 
ticipated giving  pleasure  to  a  poor  little  girl,  and  I  am 
puzzled  and  dismayed  at  finding  in  her  place  a  stylish 
young  lady,  who  looks  as  though  she  went  to  drive  every 
day." 

Violet  enjoyed  his  discomfiture  exceedingly,  and 
answered,  gaily, "  I  am  just  the  same  girl  I  was  yesterday 
only  in  a  more  fitting  costume,  so  you  must  accept  the 

»5 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

change  and  not  make  me  unhappy  and  spoil  my 
drive  just  because  I  have  not  got  the  old  cloak 
and  hood  on.  Won't  you  forgive  me  for  not 
wearing  them?"  and  her  big  eyes  looked  pleadingly 
into  his. 

"Oh,  there  is  nothing  to  forgive,"  he  replied,  a  trifle 
embarrassed;  "only  it  seems  as  though  I  had  got  hold 
of  the  wrong  girl." 

"Well,  you  are  the  oddest  mortal  I  ever  met.  You 
are  so  absurdly  honest,"  laughed  Violet. 

She  chattered  away  to  him  like  a  gay,  light-hearted 
child.  She  was  witty  and  interesting,  and  Manning 
soon  felt  at  his  ease  and  forgot  all  about  the  other  Violet, 
who  always  wore  a  cloak  and  hood. 

They  drove  out  to  the  place  he  had  bought  so 
recently.  Violet  was  delighted  with  it,  and  resolved  to 
do  her  utmost  to  become  its  mistress.  Every  day 
added  to  her  liking  for  Manning.  He  was  so  different 
from  other  men  which  she  had  met.  "If  I  had  only 
met  him  five  years  ago,  what  a  different  woman  I 
might  have  been."  She  sighed  and  looked  so  serious 
that  Manning  asked  her  if  she  was  getting  tired,  and 
proposed  that  they  should  stop  at  the  next  hotel  for 
dinner.  She  acquiesced  and  they  drew  up  in  front  of 
a  fine  country  hotel,  situated  near  a  lake  and  surrounded 
by  big  trees. 

"This  must  be  a  lovely  place  in  summer,"  said  Man- 
ning, "with  such  beautiful  shade  trees  and  probably 
good  fishing." 

"Yes.,"  replied  Violet,  "but  it  gives  me  the  shivers 


now." 


8$ 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

"I  am  afraid  you  are  not  dressed  warmly  enough," 
he  said,  gazing  at  the  trim  little  jacket  she  wore.  "  When 
we  go  back  you  shall  wear  my  shawl.' ' 

"How  he  would  protect  and  cuddle  a  woman  he 
loved,"  thought  Violet. 

They  entered  the  parlor  and  found  a  blazing  wood 
fire.  Violet  gave  an  exclamation  of  delight  and  drew 
up  a  big  easy  chair. 

"This  is  comfort,"  she  cried,  removing  her  hat  and 
gloves. 

Manning  gave  orders  for  a  hot  dinner,  the  best  the 
house  afforded.  It  was  served  in  a  private  parlor,  and, 
at  Violet's  request,  the  waiter  was  banished  as  soon  as 
the  dinner  was  served. 

"I  will  pour  the  coffee  and  you  shall  carve  the  meat," 
said  Violet,  gleefully,  "It  will  seem  more  home- 
like." 

How  lovely  she  looked  seated  at  the  head  of  the  table. 
Her  cheeks  and  lips  were  aglow  after  her  long  ride  in 
the  crisp  air.  Her  beautiful  golden  hair  waved  and 
curled  about  her  broad  white  brow,  and  the  blue  eyes 
were  shining  with  enjoyment.  Manning  watched  her 
in  a  curious,  puzzled  way.  How  dainty  and  piquant 
she  was.  She  looked  like  the  petted  darling  of  some  rich, 
aristocratic  family.  Could  it  be  possible  she  was  only 
a  poor  flower  girl  ?  Violet  could  read  what  was  passing 
in  his  mind.  As  she  passed  him  a  cup  of  coffee,  she 
exclaimed  in  a  theatrical  tone,  "  '  Eat,  drink  and  be 
merry,  for  tomorrow  ye  die.'  That  is  my  predicament 
exactly,"  she  said,  with  a  laugh.  "Today,  I  eat  and 
drink  luxuriously.    Tomorrow,  I  die,  and  out  of  my 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

ashes  rises~the  flower  girljvith  her  shabby  cloak  and 
hood.,, 

"I  don't  like  to  hear  you  talk  like  that,"  said  Man- 
ning. "Is  there  nothing  else  you  can  do  but  sell 
flowers?  Why  not  be  companion  to  some  nice  old 
lady,  or  teach  little  children?  Something  that  would 
give  you  the  protection  of  a  comfortable  home." 

"Because,"  she  replied,  "there  are  no  nice,  old  ladies 
willing  to  take  strange  young  girls  and  give  them  a 
home;  and  I  don't  like  children  even  if  I  had  sufficient 
talent  for  teaching,  which  I  have  not.  I  have  had 
several  offers  from  artists  to  pose  as  a  model,  but  as  I 
have  a  little  modesty  in  my  composition,  I  have  never 
accepted  any  of  their  offers  yet.  Perhaps  I  may  have 
to,"  and  she  sighed  softly. 

She  looked  so  pretty  and  girlish,  it  seemed  a  shame 
that  she  was  obliged  to  wander  the  streets  unprotected, 
for  a  mere  subsistence.  Manning's  impulsive,  sym- 
pathetic nature  nearly  got  the  better  of  him.  He  leaned 
forward  as  though  about  to  speak,  but  checked  him- 
self and  drew  back  before  he  uttered  the  words  that 
would  have  ruined  his  whole  life.  Violet  saw  the  wave 
of  emotion  pass  over  the  man  and  waited  breathlessly 
for  the  words  to  follow;  but,  instead,  she  saw  the  light 
die  out  of  his  eyes,  and  when  he  did  speak,  he  said  in 
a  gentle  tone,  "Poor  child,  something  must  be  done  for 
you.  I  know  a  number  of  kind  old  ladies  that  I  am 
sure  would  gladly  help  you  if  I  told  them  of  you." 

Violet  could  hardly  repress  tears  of  rage  and  disap- 
pointment at  the  change  in  his  manner.  When  she 
could  speak  calmly,  she  said,  "Don't,  I  beg  of  you,  try 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

to  get  any  women  interested  in  me.  You  men  are  so 
innocent.  You  think  women  would  be  interested  in 
a  poor  girl  like  me.  They  might,  if  I  were  hideous  or 
misshapen;  but  they  would  all  resent  my  beauty  and 
act  as  though  I  was  to  blame  for  it.  Perhaps  they  would 
give  me  some  plain  sewing  at  starvation  prices,  or  they 
would  give  me  some  of  their  cast-off  finery,  expecting 
me  to  make  a  street  costume  out  of  the  back  breadths  of 
a  ruined  party  dress.' ' 

She  spoke  so  bitterly  that  Manning  listened  in  amaze- 
ment and  stammered,  "I  didn't  know  —  I  thought  — " 

"Of  course,  you  didn't  know;  no  man  knows.  It  is 
only  a  woman  who  knows  how  meanly  her  own  sex 
treats  her.  But  let  us  drop  the  subject.  We  are  spoil- 
ing our  dinner.  Only  don't  say  anything  about  me 
to  your  lady  friends." 

After  dinner  they  returned  to  the  city  by  a  different 
route,  reaching  the  park  just  at  sunset.  "Must  I  leave 
you  here  ?"  he  asked.  "  Can't  I  take  you  to  your  own 
door?" 

"No,  leave  me  here,"  said  Violet,  "and  let  me  thank 
you  for  one  of  the  happiest  days  of  my  life." 

"I  shall  look  for  my  little  flower  girl  tomorrow," 
said  Manning,  "and  I  shall  ask  her  who  the  young  lady 
was  she  sent  in  her  place." 

"All  right,"  replied  Violet.  "I  will  come  also  to  see 
that  she  gives  the  correct  answers,"  so  with  merry  ban- 
tering they  parted. 

Violet  seated  herself  upon  a  bench  in  the  park  and 
watched  the  carriage  until  it  was  hidden  from  her  view 
by  other  vehicles.    She  looked  weary  and  much  older 

89 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

than  the  gay,  lively  maiden  who  had  just  parted  with 
Manning. 

"What  an  innocent,  young  fool  he  is,"  she  solilo- 
quized. "Sometimes  I  despise  him,  and  then  again, 
there  are  times  when  I  love  him  for  the  very  goodness 
I  despise.  I  am  tired  of  this  masquerading  and  lying. 
How  he  would  despise  me  if  he  knew  all.  He  would 
shake  me  off  as  he  would  a  rattlesnake.  I  trust  he 
will  never  know.  I  could  not  endure  to  have  those 
frank,  honest  eyes  look  at  me  with  the  scorn  I  know 
they  are  capable  of.  They  came  nearer  flashing  with 
love  this  afternoon  than  I  have  ever  seen  them.  I 
wonder  what  he  was  about  to  say  when  he  checked  him- 
self so  suddenly.  I  must  give  him  another  opportunity, 
and  if  he  offers  to  make  me  his  wife,  I  will  accept  him, 
and  beg  him  to  take  me  far  away  where  I  can  be  a  good 
woman.  If  he  makes  me  his  wife,  he  shall  not  regret 
it  How  Harold  would  laugh  if  he  could  read  my 
thoughts.  Ah,  well,  I  am  getting  tired  of  living  this 
life."  She  arose  wearily,  and  signalled  a  carriage  to 
drive  her  home. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

WHO   WAS   SHE? 

Dora  and  Edith  Dunlap  were  in  Aunt  Helen's  room 
amusing  the  invalid  with  their  girlish  chatter  and  merry 
laughter.  They  could  always  talk  and  laugh  without 
restraint  before  Aunt  Helen.  She  always  entered  into 
all  their  pranks  and  merry-making,  sympathizing  with 
their  little  worries  and  vexations.  They  told  her  all 
their  love  affairs  and  quarrels,  sure  of  an  interested 
listener. 

"They  say  Harold  Graham  is  paying  court  to  the 
famous  Violet  Devereaux,"  said  Edith,  with  a  dis- 
dainful toss  of  her  head.  "  Julia  Norton  saw  them  at 
the  opera  together.  They  had  a  private  box  and  Harold 
kept  in  the  background,  but  Julia  caught  a  glimpse  of 
him." 

Aunt  Helen  sighed,  while  Dora  asked,  "  Did  you  ever 
see  her?" 

"  Yes,  once  in  the  park.     She  was  pointed  out  to  me." 

"Is  she  so  very  beautiful?"  questioned  Dora. 

"She  is  very  lovely,  with  a  beautiful  complexion, 
golden  hair  and  big,  blue  eyes  like  a  child's.  You 
could  not  imagine  her  doing  anything  wrong." 

"Therein  lies  her  power,"  said  Aunt  Helen.  "Men 
do  not  admire  a  bold,  bad  woman,  but  when  the  tempt- 
ress has  the  face  of  an  angel,  it  is  hard  to  resist 
her." 


9i 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

"  They  say  she  has  more  lovers  than  any  other  woman 
in  the  city,"  said  Edith;  "and  some  stand  high  in  society, 
—  men  we  would  least  suspect.  I  have  tried  to  quiz 
Wallace,  but  no  use.  Men  will  not  betray  each  other. 
I  hope  he  does  not  go  there,  but  there  is  no  man  one 
can  trust  when  a  beautiful  siren  smiles  at  him." 

"Now,  Edith,  don't  make  such  a  sweeping  assertion," 
exclaimed  Dora.  "I  know  of  many  that  I  am  sure  are 
pure,  good  men." 

"Oh,  I  suppose  you  are  thinking  of  Mr.  Manning," 
laughed  Edith.  "You  probably  think  an  angel  could 
not  tempt  him." 

"I  am  quite  sure  a  fallen  one  could  not,"  replied 
Dora,  complacently. 

"Well,  I  trust  your  faith  will  never  be  destroyed," 
said  Edith.  "I  have  a  high  opinion  of  Mr.  Manning 
myself.  He  has  certainly  had  a  wonderful  influence 
over  Wallace  for  good;  but  even  he  may  not  be  infal- 
lible.   What  do  you  think,  Aunt  Helen?" 

"I  think  Mr.  Manning  is  an  exceptionally  strong, 
moral  man.  He  has  been  reared  in  a  Christian  family, 
and  he  has  never  been  subjected  to  the  temptations  of 
a  city  life.  At  his  age  and  with  his  strength  of  character, 
I  should  not  expect  him  to  be  easily  led  astray." 

"How  the  boys  disliked  him  at  first,"  continued 
Edith,  "for  his  conscientious  scruples  against  frivolities 
and  the  vices  of  city  life;  but  he  has  completely  won 
Wallace,  Adolphus  likes  him  also,  but  DeVere  and 
Harold  hate  him.  Of  course  we  all  know  why  Harold 
dislikes  him,  but  I  don't  see  in  what  way  he  clashes 
with  DeVere." 


92 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

"Mr.  Manning  is  so  superior  in  looks,  fortune  and 
morals  to  DeVere  it  arouses  his  envy  and  dislike.  That 
is  the  reason,"  said  Dora.  "Come,  let  us  go  down 
stairs.  We  will  tire  auntie  all  out  with  our  chatter. 
I  have  a  new  song  I  want  to  sing  for  you." 

The  two  girls  descended  to  the  music  room  and  were 
soon  playing  and  singing  at  the  piano.  Tiring  of  this 
amusement,  they  were  just  planning  for  a  drive,  when 
Wallace  and  his  sister  Jennie  entered  the  room. 

"There  she  is  now,"  cried  Jennie,  triumphantly, 
pointing  at  Dora.  "Wallace  thought  he  saw  you  out 
driving  with  Mr.  Manning,  and  said  it  was  no  use  call- 
ing, as  you  would  not  be  at  home.  But  I  knew  you 
were  expecting  Edith  this  morning,  and  if  you  had  been 
going  to  drive  you  would  have  sent  her  word." 

"I  wonder  who  it  could  have  been,"  said  Edith. 
"She  must  have  been  a  blonde  to  have  been  mistaken 
for  Dora." 

Dora  said  nothing,  but  she  waited  anxiously  for 
Wallace's  reply. 

"I  just  caught  a  glimpse  of  a  golden-haired  lady 
and  thought  of  course  it  was  Dora." 

"Are  you  sure  it  was  Mr.  Manning?"  questioned 
Edith. 

"Oh,  I  know  Manning's  team,"  replied  her  brother, 
convincingly. 

"I  think  I  know  who  the  lady  was,"  said  Jennie. 
"You  know  young  Mrs.  Winthrop?  She  has  taken 
a  great  fancy  to  our  young  western  friend.  I  fancy  it 
might  have  been  she.  She  has  hair  something  like 
Dora's,  only  lighter.     I  think  she  has  had  it  bleached." 


93 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

"I  should  think  her  husband  would  object  to  her 
driving  about  with  young  men,"  said  Edith. 

"  Oh,  she  does  just  as  she  pleases,"  answered  Jennie. 
"She  probably  gave  the  poor  fellow  such  a  broad  hint 
to  take  her  that  he  could  not  refuse.  He  will  likely 
tell  Dora  all  about  it  the  next  time  he  sees  her,"  and 
Jennie  smiled  reassuringly  at  Dora,  who  resented  it, 
and  replied: 

"What  an  absurd  girl  you  are,  Jennie.  You  speak 
as  though  I  were  Mr.  Manning's  keeper.  I  hope  he 
has  a  right  to  take  whom  he  pleases  to  drive  without 
thinking  he  has  to  tell  me  about  it." 

Jennie  laughed  heartily,  not  a  whit  disconcerted. 
"What  are  you  girls  going  to  do  this  afternoon?"  she 
asked.  "Wallace  and  I  were  going  to  Marcel's  studio 
to  look  at  his  pictures.  They  say  his  last  picture  is 
very  striking.     Don't  you  want  to  go  with  us?" 

"Yes,  I  should  like  to  go,  if  Dora  will,"  answered 
Edith. 

"All  right,  "said  Dora.  "We  will  have  lunch  first. 
Shall  we  drive  or  walk?" 

"Oh,  let  us  walk,"  said  Jennie.  "It  is  not  far  and 
such  a  lovely  day." 

Dora  rang  the  bell  and  ordered  lunch,  after  which 
they  started  for  Marcel's.  It  was  reception  day  and 
the  studio  was  filled  with  fashionable  women  and  art 
critics. 

The  artist  was  gracious  and  suave.  He  smiled  in- 
dulgently at  the  exclamations  of  delight  from  appre- 
ciative admirers.  He  was  a  great  artist,  and  his 
pictures  were  not  only  admired,  but  sold  at  fabulous 

:94 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

prices.  One  picture  in  particular  attracted  considerable 
attention,  comment  and  admiration.  It  stood  in  an 
alcove,  and  represented  a  beautiful  young  girl  walking 
down  a  sunny,  flower-bordered  path.  She  has  been 
gathering  flowers,  and  her  hat,  swinging  by  its  strings, 
upon  her  arm,  is  filled  with  bright-hued  blossoms. 

The  figure  is  life-size,  and  the  perspective  is  so  per- 
fect that  she  looks  as  if  alive  and  advancing  to  meet 
you.  The  top  and  sides  of  the  alcove  are  painted  to 
represent  the  sky  and  garden.  Natural  plants  are  so 
arranged  by  the  side  of  painted  ones  that  it  is  hard  to 
distinguish  between  them,  and  the  illusion  is  so  perfect 
that  one  can  imagine  himself  looking  into  a  large  garden 
without  being  conscious  of  the  canvas.  The  picture 
is  a  great  success  and  attract-  crowds  of  visitors. 

Dora  and  her  companions  met  many  friends  and  ac- 
quaintances; but  she  did  not  see  the  face  of  one  who 
generally  joined  their  party  on  all  occasions  like  this. 
He  was  driving  with  some  blonde  woman.  Who  was 
she?  Dora's  heart  ached,  although  she  told  herself 
that  he  had  a  perfect  right  to  drive  with  anyone  he  chose. 
She  longed  for  the  evening.  She  was  sure  he  would 
call.  Then  he  would  speak  of  his  drive,  and  tell  her 
he  was  sorry  he  could  not  have  been  with  her. 

That  evening  Dora  took  extra  pains  with  her  toilette, 
although  she  was  going  to  spend  a  quiet  evening  at 
home,  in  hopes  that  Manning  would  call  and  ease  her 
mind  with  regard  to  the  blonde.  She  tried  to  amuse 
herself  at  the  piano,  but  she  was  too  nervous  to  play  or 
sing.  She  tried  to  read,  but  could  not  get  interested 
as  she  was  listening  for  a  foot-fall  all  the  time.     It  was 


95 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

getting  late  and  she  had  about  given  up  hopes  of  Philip's 
coming,  when  he  was  announced  and  entered  the  room. 

"I  was  afraid  you  would  not  be  at  home,"  he  said, 
after  the  usual  greetings  had  been  exchanged.  "How 
is  it  you  are  not  at  Mrs.  Monroe's  musicale?" 

"I  was  too  tired,"  replied  Dora.  "I  like  to  stay  at 
home  occasionally  and  rest  up.  Too  much  dissipation 
is  not  good  for  me.  I  might  ask  the  same  question  — 
why  are  you  not  there?" 

"I  did  drop  in  just  long  enough  to  find  you  were  not 
there.  Then  I  made  my  adieux,  thinking  I  might  pos- 
sibly find  you  at  home." 

Manning  drew  a  chair  in  front  of  the  open  fire,  where 
Dora  was  sitting,  leaned  back  in  its  comfortable  depths 
and  gazed  at  the  beautiful  girl  opposite  him.  He  gave 
a  sigh  of  intense  enjoyment  and  exclaimed:  "Now  this 
is  what  I  call  comfort,  —  far  ahead  of  the  crowded 
room  I  left.  What  puzzles  me  is,  why  every  one  over- 
crowds their  rooms,  making  it  so  uncomfortable.  I 
am  in  misery  all  the  time  for  fear  I  shall  step  on  some 
lady's  tn  in  or  perhaps  her  toes." 

"Well  I  really  don't  know  myself,"  said  Dora,  smil- 
ing. "I  know  the  majority  of  ladies  like  to  have  their 
rooms  crowded.  They  would  think  their  entertain- 
ment a  failure  if  there  was  not  a  jam." 

"I  hope  Josie  will  not  make  that  mistake  when  she 
comes  to  entertain.  I  shall  rely  on  you  and  your  mother 
to  coach  her  a  bit.  She  will  be  a  little  shy  at  first. 
Josie  has  never  been  to  a  fashionable  party  in  all  her 
fife.  We  used  to  have  frolics  in  the  West  that  we  called 
parties,  but  they  were  not  much  like  your  city  affairs." 

96 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

"Do  tell  me  about  one  of  them,"  exclaimed  Dora, 
eagerly. 

"Well,"  said  Manning,  laughing,  "I  will  try  and 
describe  a  party  in  the  far  West.  Of  course,  in  the 
western  cities  you  will  find  society  quite  as  much  up- 
to-date  as  in  your  eastern  cities;  but  among  the  farmers 
it  is  different.  They  live  so  far  from  fashionable  society 
and  regard  for  etiquette,  that  they  have  their  own  codes 
and  customs  of  doing  things.  The  invitations  are 
generally  verbal  and  passed  from  house  to  house. 
Cousin  Jane  is  expected  to  tell  her  young  man  and  re- 
quest him  to  tell  some  other  fellow  to  tell  his  girl  to  tell 
her  friend,  and  so  it  goes  the  rounds  that  Sally  Williams 
is  going  to  have  a  party  on  a  certain  evening.  The 
eventful  evening  arrives.  John  does  the  chores  up  early 
and  dons  his  best  Sunday  suit.  Hitching  the  young  colt 
to  the  buggy,  he  starts  off  to  get  Mary,  who,  perhaps, 
lives  several  miles  distant.  She  is  ready  and  waiting, 
and  makes  John's  heart  palpitate  with  admiration  at 
her  festive  appearance.  Another  long  drive  brings  them 
to  the  house  where  the  party  is  to  be.  It  is  a  large, 
old-fashioned  house,  surrounded  by  barns  and  sheds 
of  all  sizes  and  dimensions,  from  the  little  chicken  coop 
to  the  great  barn.  The  yard  is  full  of  vehicles  of  vari- 
ous kinds,  from  the  old  family  coach  to  the  buckboard. 
As  John  drives  up,  he  is  greeted  by  a  chorus  of  welcomes. 
The  young  men  seize  upon  the  horse  and  help  unharness, 
while  Mary  is  captured  by  the  girls,  led  into  the  house 
and  into  the  spare  bedroom  to  lay  aside  her  things  and 
fix  her  hair.  Downstairs,  most  of  the  young  men  are 
out  in  the  big  kitchen  talking  about  crops  and  stock. 


97 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

The  girls  are  in  the  sitting-room,  chatting  and  laughing 
and  casting  shy  glances  towards  the  kitchen  door. 
Someone  proposes  Copenhagen.  A  rope  is  found,  and 
a  big  circle  formed  in  the  kitchen.  Then  the  fun  be- 
gins, but  such  boisterous  fun,  such  shrieking  and  skir- 
mishing. At  last  they  are  driven  into  the  sitting-room, 
as  the  older  ones  are  about  to  set  the  tables. 

"  Some  one  starts  whirling  the  platter  and  forfeits  are 
gathered  fast.  They  are  redeemed  by  requiring  their 
victims  to  do  all  manner  of  absurd  things  for  the  amuse- 
ment of  the  crowd. 

u  Then  comes  the  supper.  I  wish  you  could  see  the 
tables.  The  cloth  is  coarse  but  snowy  white.  There 
is  no  silver,  unless  it  is  some  old  heirloom,  or  a  few 
spoons.  There  is  no  gas;  kerosene  lamps  are  the  only 
illuminators.  There  is  white,  brown  and  rye  bread.  A 
big  pan  of  baked  beans  graces  the  center  of  the  table. 
There  are  cold,  sliced  meats,  a  variety  of  pies  and  cakes, 
cheese,  pickles,  apples,  nuts  and  cider.  That  is  the 
bill  of  fare  you  will  find  at  every  party  in  the  West,  and 
seldom  anything  more  or  less.  It  is  a  feast  the  farmers 
love,  and  they  eat  as  though  they  had  been  saving  their 
appetites  for  the  occasion.  At  the  last  of  the  meal  a  few 
always  get  boisterous,  and  nuts  and  pop-corn  fly  about 
the  table. 

"After  the  supper  the  table  is  cleared  and  pushed  back 
against  the  wall.  The  old  fiddler  tunes  up  and  hugs 
his  fiddle  under  his  chin.  Then  with  arms,  head  and 
feet  beating  time,  he  starts  some  familiar  tune.  All 
who  know  how  to  dance  choose  their  partners,  sets  are 
formed,  and  the  dancing  commences.     Those  who  do 

98 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

not  dance,  repair  to  the  other  rooms  and  continue  the 
games. 

"They  seldom  stay  after  twelve,  as  most  of  them 
have  a  long  drive  and  must  be  up  ready  for  work  at 
daylight.  So  midnight  finds  them  all  gone.  John 
leaves  Mary,  with  a  bashful  kiss,  at  her  own  door,  while 
he  drives  home  whistling  and  thinking  what  a  jolly, 
good  time  he  has  had." 

Dora  had  listened,  very  much  amused  and  enter- 
tained by  the  recital.  "  I  have  no  doubt  they  enjoy  their 
parties  as  well  as  we  do  ours,  perhaps  better,"  she  said; 
"we  have  to  be  so  conventional  and  careful  what  we 
say  and  do.  It  is  often  a  greater  bore  than  an  enjoy- 
ment ;  but  when  one  is  in  society,  one  has  to  do  as  society 
does." 

It  was  getting  late.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Hutchinson  had 
returned  from  the  theatre,  so  Manning  took  his  de- 
parture. Not  until  after  he  had  gone  did  Dora  re- 
member the  blonde.  Manning  had  not  mentioned  his 
drive,  and  the  blonde  lady  was  as  great  a  mystery  as 
ever. 


99 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

THE   FORTUNE   TELLER. 

It  was  the  week  before  Christmas,  and  the  Hutch- 
insons  were  preparing  to  entertain.  The  invitations 
had  been  issued  to  only  a  limited  number.  "I  am 
going  to  take  Mr.  Manning's  advice  and  not  crowd  the 
rooms,"  said  Dora. 

"I  think  Dora  is  very  particular  to  please  this  Mr. 
Manning,"  said  Kate  Howard,  a  young  schoolmate  of 
Dora's,  who  had  come  to  spend  the  holidays.  "I  am 
anxious  to  meet  him;  perhaps  I  can  cut  her  out.  I 
hope  he  admires  dark  eyes,"  and  Kate  flashed  her  own 
dark  orbs  roguishly. 

"He  has  dark  eyes  himself,  and  admires  blondes," 
was  Dora's  laughing  reply.  "So  you  have  no  show  at 
all." 

"Now  don't  you  be  too  sure,  Miss  Dora,"  said  Kate, 
saucily.  "I  have  other  charms  besides  my  dark  eyes. 
I  am  a  charming  dancer.  Perhaps  I  can  waltz  my  way 
into  his  heart." 

"But  he  doesn't  dance,"  answered  Dora,  demurely. 

"Oh,  well,  if  he  doesn't  admire  brunettes  and  doesn't 
dance,  I  am  sure  I  would  not  take  him  as  a  gift,"  and 
she  gave  a  deprecatory  wave  of  her  white  hands. 

That  afternoon  there  were  two  new  arrivals,  young 
cousins  of  Dora's  from  a  distant  city,  the  daughters  of 
a  sister  of  Mrs.  Hutchinson's,  Mabel  and  Isabel  Joyce. 


ioo 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

Aunt  Helen's  room  was  invaded  at  all  hours  of  the 
day.  She  was  consulted  with  regard  to  the  selection 
of  Christmas  gifts,  and  many  mysterious  packages  were 
arriving  to  be  left  in  her  possession  for  safe  keeping, 
while  the  four  girls  made  daily  excursions  to  the  big 
stores  filled  with  rich  and  dainty  wares  that  appealed 
to  their  taste  and  drained  their  pocketbooks. 

What  a  pleasure  to  enter  a  store  with  a  well-filled 
purse,  knowing  that  when  the  purse  is  empty,  there  is 
plenty  more  to  replenish  it;  not  to  be  obliged  to  get  only 
the  necessities  of  life,  trying  to  make  ourselves  believe  we 
are  as  well  satisfied  with  the  sensible,  practical  gifts. 
These  are  well  enough  at  any  other  time  of  the  year,  but 
at  Christmas  our  hearts  crave  the  beautiful,  dainty  little 
trifles  that  are  luxuries  not  necessities. 

It  was  Christmas  Eve  and  it  had  been  snowing  hard 
all  day.  The  girls,  confined  to  the  house,  had  exhausted 
every  amusement  they  could  think  of.  Now,  as  the 
evening  approached,  the  snow  ceased  to  fall,  and  there 
was  every  indication  of  fair  weather. 

"I  am  glad  it  is  time  to  dress  for  dinner,"  yawned 
Kate.  "I  hope  we  shall  have  a  host  of  callers  this 
evening.  It  will  be  delightful  sleighing  tomor- 
row." 

"I  hope  Wallace  Dunlap  will  invite  me  to  take  a 
sleigh  ride,"  said  Isabel,  "so  I  can  have  a  fine  color  for 
the  evening." 

"If  Harold  Graham  calls,  I  shall  try  and  drop'a  hint 
on  my  own  account,"  laughed  Kate.  "Perhaps  Mr. 
Manning  will  ask  Dora,  and  then  poor  Mabel  will  be  left 
at  home  alone." 


IOI 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

"You  need  not  worry  about  me,"  replied  Mabel. 
"How  do  you  know  but  what  Mr.  Dunlap  or  Mr. 
Graham  may  prefer  my  society  to  yours?" 

"If  Mr.  Dunlap  takes  you  to  ride,  I  will  tell  Charlie," 
said  Isabel,  threateningly.  "The  idea  of  a  girl  who  is 
engaged  taking  sleigh  rides  away  from  girls  who  are 
less  fortunate." 

"Charlie  told  me  to  enjoy  myself,"  replied  Mabel, 
"and  I  mean  to." 

"That's  right,  Mabel,  you  had  better  enjoy  yourself 
while  you  have  your  liberty,"  said  Kate,  "for  after  you 
are  married,  Charlie  may  not  be  so  willing.  But  come, 
we  shall  be  late  for  dinner  if  we  do  not  dress  at  once." 
So  they  all  ran  upstairs,  their  merry  voices  floating 
away  in  the  distance. 

There  were  several  callers  in  the  evening.  Wallace 
came  early  and  devoted  himself  to  Isabel;  Adolphus 
and  Jennie  called  on  their  way  to  a  concert;  Manning 
came  next,  and  later  Harold  Graham.  It  was  a  cold 
night,  and  the  merry  jingle  of  the  sleigh  bells  could  be 
heard  from  outside,  while  in  the  drawing  rcom  they 
gathered  about  the  open  fire  or  piano.  John,  the  stately 
footman,  who  stood  guard  over  the  front  door  and  hall, 
made  his  appearance  at  the  door  and  requested  the 
privilege  of  speaking  to  his  young  mistress. 

"What  is  it?"  she  asked,  pleasantly. 

"There  is  an  old  woman  in  the  hall  who  says  she  is  a 
gypsy,  and  begged  me  to  ask  you  to  let  her  tell  your 
fortunes." 

"Poor  old  thing,  I  will  send  her  some  money  and  let 
her  go,"  said  Dora. 


102 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

"Who  is  poor  and  old?"  cried  Jennie,  inquisitively, 
as  she  caught  the  words. 

"Why,  John  says  there  is  an  old  gypsy  fortune  teller 
out  in  the  hall,  and  she  —  " 

"Oh,  how  delightful!"  exclaimed  Jennie,  clapping 
her  hands.  "Do  have  her  in;  what  fun!  Just  think, 
girls,  a  fortune  teller,  and  Dora  was  going  to  send  her 
away." 

"Oh,  do  let  her  in,"  cried  Kate;  "I  never  had  my 
fortune  told." 

So  Dora  reluctantly  consented  and  John  withdrew, 
but  soon  appeared  again.  "She  says  she  must  see  you 
one  at  a  time.     Where  shall  I  take  her?" 

Dora  thought  for  a  moment,  then  said:  "Take  her 
into  the  south  library.  There  is  nothing  there  she  can 
take  or  harm,  and  only  one  door  into  the  hall.  Keep 
your  eye  on  the  door,  John,  and  see  that  she  enters  no 
room  but  that.  I  have  not  much  faith  in  such  charac- 
ters." 

"All  right,  Miss  Dora,  I  will  keep  my  eye  on  her," 
and  John  left  the  room  to  escort  the  fortune  teller  to  the 
library. 

"Who  will  have  their  fortune  told  first  ?"  asked  Dora. 

"Jennie  ought  to  go,  as  she  was  so  anxious  to  have 
her  admitted,"  said  Isabel.  "You  could  not  hire  me 
to  go  first,  I  will  wait  and  see  what  charm  she  works 
upon  Jennie." 

•  "Oh,  I'm  not  afraid,"  said  Jennie,  courageously. 
"Adolphus,  you  sit  near  the  door,  and  if  you  hear  me 
scream  come  to  my  rescue,"  and  with  a  firm  step, 
Jennie  passed  from  the  room,  while  those  who  remained 


«>3 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

behind  told  of  the  mysterious  power  some  gypsies 
possessed. 

In  a  short  time,  Jennie  returned,  her  eyes  sparkling 
and  her  cheeks  flushed  with  excitement.  The  girls 
crowded  about  her  with  exclamations  and  questions. 
"What  did  she  tell  you?''  "Tell  us  about  her." 
"How  does  she  look?"  came  from  a  chorus  of 
voices. 

"Well,"  said  Jennie,  sinking  into  a  chair,  "she  is 
just  wonderful.  Why,  if  she  had  known  me  all  my  life 
she  could  not  have  told  me  more  of  my  past  life;  and 
she  also  told  me  of  a  fine  future,  but  I  am  not  going  ;o 
tell  that,"  and  she  glanced  shyly  at  Adolphus.  "Kate, 
you  ought  to  go  next.     It's  lots  of  fun." 

So  Kate  left  the  room,  while  Jennie  gave  a  graphic 
description  of  the  fortune  teller. 

Kate  soon  returned  and  gave  a  satisfactory  report. 

"I  think  some  of  the  gentlemen  ought  to  go  now," 
said  Jennie.  "Won't  you  go,  Mr.  Manning?"  but  he 
shook  his  head  and  begged  to  be  excused.  Finally 
they  prevailed  on  Wallace  to  go.  When  he  returned 
he  wore  a  puzzled,  wondering  expression,  and  to  the 
questions  that  assailed  him  he  answered  that  she  cer- 
tainly was  able  to  tell  a  person's  past  life,  as  she  told 
him  things  he  thought  known  only  to  himself. 

Isabel  was  the  next  to  interview  the  sibyl  of  fate. 
Then  Adolphus,  after  much  urging,  was  sent  to  her. 

"Now,  Harold,  you  must  go,"  they  all  cried. 

"I  do  not  believe  that  she  can  tell  me  anything  that 
will  impress  me  with  her  wonderful  power.  It  is  all 
nonsense,  but  I  will  go  to  please  you." 


104 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

Harold  left  the  room  and  passed  into  the  library. 
After  closing  the  door,  he  gazed  searchingly  about  the 
dimly  lighted  room.  At  last  he  saw  her.  She  sat  hud- 
dled in  front  of  the  fire.  Turning  towards  him,  she 
spoke  from  the  depths  of  a  big  hood  that  overshadowed 
her  face.  "Cross  my  hand  with  silver,  laddie.  I  have 
much  to  tell  you." 

She  held  towards  him  a  small,  brown  hand  into  which 
he  threw  some  silver.  "Sit  down,"  she  said,  motion- 
ing to  the  chair  by  her  side.  He  did  so,  and  taking  his 
hand  she  studied  it  for  a  few  moments;  then  in  a  low 
tone  said:  —  "Young  man  your  past  has  been  reckless, 
unsettled  and  unhappy.  The  one  great  desire  of  your 
heart  is  to  possess  a  beautiful  maiden  who  does  not  love 
you,  but  does  love  your  rival.  You  have  tried  in  every 
way  to  injure  your  rival,  to  disgrace  him  in  the  eyes  of 
the  lady  you  both  love,  so  far  without  effect,  but  your 
last  scheme  for  his  undoing  will  prove  a  success.  You 
will  destroy  your  rival  but  you  will  not  win  the 
lady." 

Harold  had  listened  first  in  listless  incredulity,  but 
as  she  proceeded,  he  bent  forward  to  peer  into  her  face. 
This  she  prevented  by  bending  over  his  hand. 

"Who  are  you?"  he  asked,  sternly. 

"I  am  the  seventh  daughter  of  Queen  Floretta,  who 
was  the  seventh  daughter  —  " 

"  Enough  of  that,"  he  exclaimed,  roughly.  "  You  are 
no  gypsy.  You  are  in  disguise,  and  I  shall  expose  you, 
so  you  had  better  reveal  your  identity  to  me." 

A  low,  sweet  laugh  greeted  his  ear.  The  hood  was 
thrown  back,  revealing  a  laughing  pair  of  blue  eyes, 


105 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

and  pearly  teeth,  a  brown,  swarthy  skin  streaked  with 
dark  lines  to  represent  wrinkles,  and  a  gray  wig  com- 
pleted her  disguise. 

"Violet,"  he  exclaimed,  in  surprise. 

"At  your  mercy,"  she  laughingly  replied. 

"What  is  your  object?"  he  asked. 

"  To  drop  a  hint  or  two  that  will  take  root  in  the  hearts 
of  two  people,  and  help  me  in  my  future  plans." 

"What  if  Manning  sees  through  your  disguise  as  I 
did?"  said  Harold,  anxiously. 

"Never  fear,"  replied  Violet.  "He  is  unsuspicious 
and  unused  to  ferreting  out  disguises.  I  do  not  fear 
him  as  much  as  I  do  Miss  Hutchinson.  She  did  not 
wish  to  admit  me  and  will  scrutinize  me  critically. 

Violet  replaced  the  hood,  and  with  downcast  eyes 
protrayed  the  old  gypsy  mother  to  perfection. 

Harold  laughed,  reassured.  "Well,  I  must  be  going. 
I  have  been  absent  too  long  already.  They  will  be 
coming  to  find  me.  I  will  give  them  a  good  report  and 
send  the  others  in."  So  saying  he  returned  to  the  draw- 
ing room. 

He  was  assailed  by  a  chorus  of  questions,  "What 
made  you  stay  so  long?"  asked  Jennie. 

"We  thought  you  had  succumbed  to  the  fascinations 
of  the  gypsy  and  eloped,"  said  Kate. 

"Do  tell  us  what  she  told  you,"  coaxed  Isabel. 

Harold  laughingly  placed  his  hands  over  his  ears. 
"All  I  can  say  is  that  she  is  worth  seeing  and  hearing. 
What  she  tells  you  is  interesting." 

"Who  goes  next?    It  is  your  turn,  Dora." 

"  I  do  not  care  to  have  my  fortune  told,"  replied  Dora. 


106 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

"I  would  rather  trie  future  remained  a  mystery  until 
time  revealed  it." 

"Oh,  that  is  not  fair,"  exclaimed  Kate. 

"I  believe  she  is  afraid,"  laughed  Jennie. 

So  they  overcame  her  reluctance  and  sent  her  to  the 
gypsy.  When  she  reached  the  library  door,  she  hesi- 
tated, loath  to  enter,  but  knowing  she  would  be  ques- 
tioned upon  her  return  and  laughed  at  if  she  did  not, 
she  turned  the  knob  and  entered.  With  firm  step  and 
haughty  air  she  approached  the  gypsy,  and  reluctantly 
extended  her  white  jeweled  hand,  which  was  grasped 
by  the  brown  one  of  the  gypsy,  who  studied  it  intently. 
Presently  she  spoke: 

"You  are  an  only  child,  rich,  cherished,  and  beauti- 
ful; your  every  wish  gratified  as  soon  as  expressed. 
You  have  never  known  a  sorrow.  Such  an  unnatural 
condition  cannot  go  on  forever.  All  has  been  sunshine 
and  roses  in  the  past,  but  there  are  storms  and  sorrows 
in  the  future." 

Dora  shuddered  as  the  words  of  the  gypsy  recalled 
her  dream. 

"I  see  two  lovers,"  continued  the  gypsy.  "One  has 
been  friend  and  playmate  from  youth;  the  other,  a 
stranger  from  a  distance,  has  captured  your  heart,  ex- 
cluding the  friendship  of  years.  There  is  jealousy  be- 
tween the  two.  The  stranger  is  not  what  he  appears; 
he  is  a  deceiver.  He  hopes  to  win  your  heart  and  hand 
and  by  so  doing  win  your  father's  gold ;  but  his  heart  is 
another's  and  can  never  be  yours.  Better  beware,  lady, 
and  accept  the  true,  faithful  friend  of  your  youth,  rather 
than  this  gay  deceiver  with  his  tender  brown  eyes  and 
black  heart  —  " 

107 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

Dora  snatched  away  her  hand.  '  '  What  nonsense  you 
talk,"  she  said,  in  a  voice  she  strove  to  keep  calm.  "It 
is  an  easy  matter  to  ascertain  from  the  servants  that  I 
am  an  only  child  and  have  more  than  one  lover.  The 
rest  is  a  flight  of  your  imagination."  And  Dora  swept 
from  the  room. 

The  gypsy  laughed  gleefully  as  the  door  closed  after 
her.  "Ah,  ha,  my  fine  lady.  I  think  some  of  those 
strokes  told,  and  will  rankle  in  your  proud  heart  for  a 
while.  How  haughty  and  scornful  she  was.  I  should 
enjoy  humbling  her  pride.  She  loves  him,  but  she 
shall  not  have  him;  not  until  I  get  tired  of  him,  at  any 
rate.  Ah,  another  step;  it  must  be  Philip.  I  must 
nerve  myself  anew.  So  much  depends  upon  the  im- 
pression I  make  upon  him." 

The  door  opened  and  Manning  entered.  He  stood 
by  the  door  and  gazed  about  him. 

"Come  here,  young  man,  and  cross  the  gypsy's  hand 
with  silver,"  croned  a  low  voice  from  the  hearth. 

Manning  obeyed  the  voice  and  stood  at  her  side. 
"Well,  what  have  you  to  tell  me,  granny?"  he  asked, 
in  his  pleasant,  cheerful  voice.  "What  have  the  fates 
in  store  for  me?  There  ought  to  be  considerable  to 
see  in  a  hand  of  that  size."  He  laughed  as  he  extended 
his  large,  well-shaped  hand. 

Violet  took  his  hand  in  both  of  hers  and  studied  it. 
What  a  strong,  firm  hand  it  was,  the  healthy  pink  palm 
with  its  deep  red  lines.  She  noticed  the  immaculate 
cuff  with  the'gold  buttons  engraved  with  his  initials. 
She  would  have  liked  to  bury  her  cheek  in  that  firm, 
pinkj>alm,  but  instead,  she^said:  "You  are  a  good  son, 

108 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

a  good  brother,  a  faithful  friend,  upright  and  honorable 
among  men,  standing  for  the  right  in  the  midst  of  op- 
pression. Such  a  man  should  have  only  friends;  but, 
alas,  I  see  those  who  would  gladly  blacken  your  pure 
soul  and  lower  you  to  their  own  level,  but  their  efforts 
will  be  in  vain.  There  are  two  beautiful  women  whom 
you  are  interested  in.  I  will  not  say  love,  for  I  do  not 
think  you  know  your  own  mind  yet.  One  would  be 
glad  to  become  your  wife  for  the  sake  of  your  gold,  but 
the  other  loves  you  for  yourself  alone.  Be  careful  how 
you  make  a  choice.  One  is  rich  and  cultured,  the  other 
is  of  humble  birth.  I  will  not  tell  you  which  one  loves 
you  for  yourself  and  not  for  your  gold,  but  I  caution 
you  be  careful  and  make  no  mistake." 

"Is  that  all?"  asked  Manning,  rising.  "lam  sorry 
to  hear  I  have  enemies.  Couldn't  you  be  induced  to 
tell  me  the  name  of  the  woman  who  loves  me  ?  I  might 
marry  the  wrong  one  if  you  don't,"  and  he  laughed 
merrily. 

"Your  heart  will  tell  you  in  time,"  the  gypsy  replied. 
"Study  them  both  until  you  are  sure  which  one  it  is." 

"All  right,  I  won't  be  in  a  hurry,"  said  Manning, 
as  he  left  the  room. 

Everyone  expressed  themselves  delighted  with  their 
fortunes,  with  the  exception  of  Dora,  who  said  but  little. 
She  watched  eagerly  for  Manning's  return,  and  when 
he  came,  she  searched  his  face  giving  a  sigh  of  relief 
as  she  met  the  merry,  laughing  glance  of  his  eye. 

The  gentlemen  left  at  an  early  hour,  and  the  girls 
retired  that  they  might  be  fresh  for  the  morrow's 
fete 


109 


CHAPTER  XV. 

CHRISTMAS  GIFTS. 

Christmas  morning  dawned  clear  and  cold.  The 
merry  jingle  of  sleigh  bells  greeted  the  ear.  Dora 
and  her  young  friends  were  astir  early,  running  in  and 
out  of  each  other's  rooms  with  Christmas  greetings 
and  arms  full  of  presents.  Aunt  Helen's  bed  was  liter- 
ally covered  with  gifts,  and  the  four  girls  perched  them- 
selves upon  it  to  watch  her  open  and  examine  each  par- 
cel with  exclamations  of  pleasure  and  delight. 

There  was  a  big,  fleecy  white  shawl  made  by  Kate's 
industrious  hands,  a  pretty  headrest  from  Isabel,  a 
placque  painted  by  Mabel's  artistic  hand,  and  a  pair 
of  sweet  singing  canaries  in  a  pretty  cage  from  Dora, 
who  knew  her  aunt's  love  for  pets. 

The  breakfast  bell  caused  the  girls  to  hurry  to  their 
rooms  to  complete  their  toilettes.  They  soon  appeared 
at  the  breakfast  table  and  exchanged  Christmas  greet- 
ings with  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Hutchinson.  Gifts  were  pre- 
sented, inspected  and  commented  upon. 

During  the  meal,  John  entered  with  a  huge  box, 
which  when  opened  revealed  four  beautiful  bouquets 
of  roses,  each  encased  in  a  silver  holder  of  exquisite 
workmanship.  A  card  bearing  Philip  Manning's  name 
was  attached  to  each  bouquet.  The  flowers  were  re- 
ceived with  cries  of  delight  from  the  four  girls.  "  How 
lovely!"  "What  a  darling  he  is!"  "All  just  alike!" 
"What  beauties!" 

no 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

H  How  nice  of  him  not  to  show  any  preference  or 
partiality,"  said  Kate.  "Are  you  sure  yours  hasn't 
an  extra  jewel  in  it,  Dora  ?" 

"No,  mine  is  just  like  yours,  I  am  happy  to  say.  It 
shows  his  good  taste  to  make  no  distinction,"  replied 
Dora. 

"  These  holders  are  the  handsomest  I  ever  saw," 
said  Mabel,  examining  hers  with  critical  pleasure. 
"  Charlie  gave  me  one  on  my  last  birthday,  but,  al- 
though handsome,  I  never  carry  it.  This  one  is  as 
light  and  dainty  as  a  piece  of  frosted  lace." 

"It  is  just  what  I  have  always  wanted,"  exclaimed 
Isabel.     "I  dislike  to  soil  my  gloves  with  my  flowers." 

After  breakfast  each  girl  carried  her  bouquet  to  Aunt 
Helen's  room  for  inspection  and  admiration,  then  to 
her  own  room  for  evening  wear. 

The  rest  of  the  day  was  a  busy  one  for  Dora  and  her 
mother.  There  was  a  constant  stream  of  decorators, 
florist,  caterers,  messenger  boys  and  delivery  wagons, 
for,  although  the  house  was  full  of  capable  servants, 
there  were  directions  and  arrangements  that  only  the 
ladies  of  the  house  could  attend  to. 

We  will  leave  them  for  a  while,  to  visit  our  friend 
Manning,  and  see  how  he  enjoys  his  first  Christmas  in 
the  great  metropolis.  We  find  him  occupied  with  a 
parcel  that  has  just  been  delivered  to  him.  Undoing 
the  outside  wrapper,  revealed  a  long,  white  box.  On 
raising  the  lid,  a  beautiful  handkerchief  case  is  disclosed. 
Lifting  it  from  the  box,  Manning  examines  it  with  ad  - 
miration,  a  pleased  smile  upon  his  lips.  It  is  made 
of  white  satin,  lined  with  violet.    Clusters  of  violets  are 


m 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

painted  on  its  snowy  exterior,  while  a  delicate  perfume 
of  violets  fills  the  room.    Of  course  Violet  is  the  donor. 

"It  is  as  sweet  and  dainty  as  herself,"  he  thinks.  He 
is  still  admiring  it  when  Wallace  enters  the  room. 
Manning  has  not  time  to  replace  it  in  the  box  before  it 
has  caught  the  eye  of  Wallace. 

"None  of  that,  old  fellow,"  he  cries,  with  a  merry 
laugh.  "Trying  to  hide  your  Christmas  gifts.  I 
can  guess  whom  it  is  from.  I  think  I  saw  her  making 
it."  He  takes  it  from  Manning's  reluctant  hand  and 
inspects  it  critically.  "I  thought  hers  was  pink,"  he 
mused,  "I  must  have  been  mistaken  though.  It's  a 
daisy,  isn't  it?  I  should  say  a  violet.  What  a  fellow 
you  are  for  violets;  Dora  has  evidently  noticed  it,"  and 
Wallace  looked  very  knowing. 

Manning  watched  him  uneasily.  He  knew  Wallace 
thought  Dora  had  sent  it,  and  he  did  not  correct  the 
impression.  When  Wallace  relinquished  the  case, 
Philip  carried  it  into  the  next  room  and  placed  it  upon 
his  dressing  case. 

p  It  had  caused  Manning  some  little  perplexity  to  de- 
cide what  to  give  Violet  for  a  Christmas  gift.  Finally 
he  decided  upon  a  gold  bangle  bracelet.  He  had  not 
given  it  to  her  yet,  as  he  had  no  address  where  he  could 
send  it  and  must  wait  until  he  saw  her  again. 

The  young  men  decided  to  take  a  sle  gh  ride.  "We 
need  not  bother  about  taking  any  of  the  girls  to-day, 
they  will  be  too  busy  preparing  for  the  evening,"  said 
Wallace,  so  they  joined  the  gay  turnout  in  the  park. 

There  were  hundreds  of  sleighs  of  every  description, 
from  the  elaborate  Russian  plumed  affair,  to  the  little 


112 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

clipper  with  only  room  for  two.  Manning  and  Wallace 
met  many  they  knew  and  exchanged  salutations.  At 
last  a  beautiful  sleigh  was  seen  approaching,  which 
riveted  their  attention.  It  was  upholstered  in  blue 
plush  and  piled  full  of  great  white  robes.  The  horses 
were  white,  with  silver  mounted  harness  and  bells. 
Harold  Graham  held  the  reins  and  at  his  side,  nestled 
among  the  snowy  robes  and  clothed  in  costiy  furs,  sat 
a  beautiful  woman.  Her  golden  hair  glittered  in  the 
sunshine,  her  big,  blue  eyes  sparkled  with  health  and 
enjoyment,  her  cheeks  and  lips  were  a  lovely  carmine. 
She  was  fairly  dazzling  in  her  exquisite  beauty.  As  the 
sleighs  passed  each  other,  three  hats  were  lifted.  A 
smile  and  flash  of  white  teeth  and  the  vision  had 
passed . 

"Who  was  that  lady  ?"  asked  Manning,  eagerly,  fairly 
grasping  Wallace  by  the  arm. 

"Oh  that  is  Harold's  prime  favorite  at  present, 
Madam  Devereaux.  Isn't  she  a  beauty?  and  awfully 
jolly  too." 

"She  resembles  a  little  flower  girl,  I  know,"  said 
Manning.  "I  never  saw  such  a  striking  likeness.  I 
almost  thought  it  was  she  at  first. ' 

"Your  flower  girl  must  be  a  beauty,  then,"  replied 
Wallace,  "for  Madam  Devereaux  is  considered  the 
handsomest  woman  in  the  city.  I  should  like  to  see 
your  flower  girl.  Where  did  you  come  across  her? 
Does  she  bring  you  flowers  every  day?  When  can 
I  see  her?" 

"  She  does  not  come  very  often.  I  never  know  when 
to  expect  her,"  replied  Manning,  coolly. 

"3 


:OM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

"Well,  you  are  a  fine  fellow,  having  a  flower  girl  to 
bring  you  flowers,  who  you  say  is  as  beautiful  as  Madam 
Devereaux,  and  never  saying  a  word  about  it  to  your 
best  friend." 

"I  did  not  think  you  would  be  interested  in  a  girl 
who  sells  me  flowers,  even  if  she  did  have  a  pretty  face. 
It  never  occurred  to  me  to  speak  of  her,  any  more  than 
it  would  of  my  washerwoman  or  chambermaid,"  re- 
plied Manning,  coldly. 

14  Oh,  well,  don't  get  huffy,  I  won't  interfere  with  your 
pretty  flower  girl;  but  you  had  better  look  out,  if  she  is 
as  pretty  as  you  say,  that  she  doesn't  turn  your  head. 
They  are  up  to  such  things." 

Manning  made  no  reply  and  the  subject  was  dropped. 

That  evening,  just  at  dusk,  there  was  a  gentle  tap  at 
Manning's  door,  and,  upon  opening  it,  he  found  Violet's 
smiling  face.  He  had  not  seen  her  for  a  week,  and  had 
really  missed  the  sweet,  roguish  face.  "I  wanted  to 
wish  you  a  Merry  Christmas,"  she  said,  with  a  pretty, 
deprecative  air. 

"I  am  glad  you  did,"  Manning  replied,  "for  I  have 
a  little  gift  I  want  to  give  you.  I  should  have  sent  it 
to  you,  but  I  had  no  address.    Come  in." 

Violet  entered  the  room,  while  Manning  went  into 
the  next  room  for  the  bracelet.  It  was  a  pretty,  slender 
gold  band  with  bangles  depending  from  it,  just  the 
thing  to  please  a  poor  flower  girl;  but  as  Violet  had  doz- 
ens of  bracelets  some  of  great  value,  she  could  scarcely 
refrain  from  laughing  at  the  poor  little  bangle,  but  she 
did  not  forget  her  role.  So,  gazing  at  Manning,  her 
eyes  sparkling  with  gratitude  (or  mirth),  she  exclaimed: 


114 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

"How  beautiful!  I  shall  always  wear  it  in  memory  of 
the  giver.  Please  clasp  it  on  my  arm,"  and  she  ex- 
tended it  towards  him,  turning  back  the  cuff  to  display 
the  slender  wrist. 

Manning  clasped  it  as  she  requested,  admiring  the 
pretty  white  hand  and  tapering  fingers.  "Just  the 
hand  for  rings  and  kisses,"  he  thought,  and  obeying 
a  sudden  impulse  he  kissed  the  little  hand  before  he 
relinquished  it. 

Violet  blushed  and  coyly  withdrew  her  hand,  but  there 
was  no  sign  of  displeasure  on  her  face. 

"I  want  to  thank  you  for  the  beautiful  gift  you  sent 
me,"  Philip  said,  gratefully.  "I  shall  be  constantly  re- 
minded of  two  Violets,  the  flower  and  the  girl.  Oh,  by 
the  way,  I  saw  your  duplicate  today,  a  lady  so  like  you 
that  had  you  been  sitting  by  her  side  I  could  not  have 
told  you  apart." 

"Oh,  yes,  you  could,"  said  Violet,  convincingly.  "I 
know  whom  you  mean.  It  was  the  beautiful  Madam 
Devereaux.  I  know  I  resemble  her  wonderfully  when 
seen  apart;  but  her  hair  is  darker  than  mine.  She  is 
taller  and  much  more  beautiful.  She,  in  her  costly 
furs  and  fine  dresses  looks  the  great  lady,  while  I  look 
just  what  I  am,  —  a  poor  flower  girl,"  and  Violet's 
eyes  drooped  sadly  and  she  sighed.  "They  say  she 
was  once  a  poor  girl  like  myself." 

"How  did  she  acquire  her  wealth?"  asked  Man- 
ning. 

"By  her  marriage  with  a  rich,  old  man.  He  is  dead 
now,  and  she  is  still  young  and  beautiful.  Perhaps 
she  will  now  marry  for  love." 


"5 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

"  Would  you  marry  a  man  for  his  money?"  asked 
Manning,  earnestly  watching  her  face. 

" No,  replied  Violet,  emphatically.  "If  I  ever  marry, 
it  will  be  the  man  I  love.  If  he  is  rich,  so  much  the 
better,  for  I  should  like  fine  clothes  and  jewels,  but  I 
would  not  marry  for  those  alone." 

' '  That  is  right,  Violet,  I  like  to  hear  you  express  such 
sentiments.  It  is  the  way  every  young  girl  should  feel; 
but,  alas,  too  many  are  willing  to  sell  themselves  to  the 
highest  bidder.  I  hope  you  will  some  day  find  a  lover 
worthy  of  you,  and  rich  enough  to  dress  you  as  finely 
as  the  lady  I  saw  in  the  sleigh." 

"Well,  stranger  things  than  that  have  happened," 
replied  Violet,  with  a  conscious  smile. 

Manning  felt  a  sudden  thrill  of  annoyance  at  her 
reply.  Had  Violet  a  lover  already  ?  If  so,  where  was 
he  ?  who  was  he  ?  and  did  she  love  him  ?  Philip  did  not 
half  like  the  idea  of  a  possible  lover,  although  he  had 
expressed  a  wish  that  such  might  be  the  case.  He  had 
no  desire  to  marry  her  himself.  Why  should  he  care 
if  she  had  a  lover  ?  He  only  took  a  great  interest  in  her. 
She  was  very  lovely,  and  their  secret  acquaintance  was 
very  fascinating.  He  felt  as  though  he  did  not  wish 
to  lose  her.  He  wanted  no  lover  to  interfere  with  their 
pleasant  friendship.  Manning  gazed  admiringly  at 
the  graceful  figure  in  front  of  the  fire.  She  had  pushed 
back  her  hood,  and  the  firelight  made  her  golden  hair 
glitter  like  the  precious  metal.  She  was  gazing  pen- 
sively into  the  fire.  The  pose  and  expression  were  very 
becoming.  Violet  was  a  born  actress,  she  knew  in- 
tuitively what  was  passing  in  Philip's  mind,  and  her 

116 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

thoughts  were  —  "I  must  wake  you  up  with  a  little 
jealousy,  young  man,  you  are  about  half-way  in  love 
with  me.  Perhaps  I  can  fan  the  flame  with  jealousy. 
He  is  the  hardest  man  to  conquer  I  ever  saw,  but  the 
greater  will  be  my  triumph  in  the  end.  I  will  leave  him 
now  with  the  thought  of  a  possible  rival  to  torment  him. 
It  may  do  some  good." 

Turning  from  the  fire,  she  said:  "I  must  be  going 
now.  I  see  you  are  going  to  some  entertainment  or 
party.  You  are  one  of  the  few  men  who  look  well  in 
a  dress  suit,"  and  she  gazed  at  him  with  genuine  ad- 
miration in  her  lovely  eyes. 

Manning  flushed  with  pleasure.  "Yes,"  he  an- 
swered, "I  am  going  to  a  Christmas  party.  I  wish  you 
were  going  also." 

" That  is  kind  of  you,"  she  replied,  gratefully.  "Per- 
haps your  wish  may  be  gratified  some  day.  Good- 
night," and  she  was  gone. 

The  Hutchinsons'  party  was  a  grand  success.  It  was  a 
fine  night,  so  all  invited  were  able  to  attend.  The  cos- 
tumes were  beautiful,  the  music  and  supper  perfection; 
everyone  seemed  happy  and  gracious.  Dora  was  es- 
pecially radiant  in  a  pale  blue  silk  covered  with  creamy 
lace.  Diamonds  encircled  her  snowy  throat  and 
flashed  in  her  golden  hair.  She  was  a  woman  from 
whom  any  man  might  well  be  proud  and  happy  to 
win  such  a  smile  as  she  bestowed  on  Manning  upon 
his  arrival.  All  thought  of  Violet  faded  from  his  mind. 
He  was  happy  to  be  with  Dora,  and  smiled  back  into 
her  eyes  until  they  drooped  and  her  heart  beat  with 
happiness. 


"7 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

NEW  YEAR'S  CALLS. 

Wallace  Dunlap,  in  fur-trimmed  overcoat,  silk 
hat,  light  kid  gloves  and  dainty  cane,  entered  Manning's 
room,  early  New  Year's  morning.  Philip  was  still  in  his 
dressing  gown,  reading  the  morning  papers.  "Why, 
hello,  Wallace,  what  got  you  out  so  early?"  he  ex- 
cla  med,  as  the  young  man  entered  the  room. 

"I  came  to  place  myself  under  your  protection," 
replied  Wallace,  with  a  laugh  and  a  slight  nervous 
contraction  of  the  lips. 

Manning  looked  at  him  anxiously.  "I  see  you  are 
all  equipped  for  New  Year's  calls,"  he  said.  "  I  shall 
be  glad  if  you  will  allow  me  to  accompany  you.  There 
are  several  calls  I  ought  to  make,  and  I  was  dreading 
to  go  alone." 

"It  is  kind  of  you  to  put  it  in  that  way,  Manning; 
but  the  truth  is,  I  need  you.  I  am  ashamed  that  I  am 
not  yet  able  to  stand  alone,  but  must  lean  upon  some 
one.  I  never  realized  what  a  strong  hold  that  cursed 
habit  had  upon  me,  until  I  tried  to  break  away.  To- 
day I  know  I  shall  be  subjected  to  temptations  on  all 
sides,  and  I  am  afraid  to  trust  myself  to  meet  them  alone. 
If  it  was  not  for  you,  I  would  not  make  a  call  today. 
That  would  expose  my  weakness  and  subject  me  to 
ridicule.  I  feel  safe  with  you  by  my  side.  You  seem 
such  a  tower  of  strength,"  and  Wallace  gazed  with 
admiration  at  his  friend. 

118 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

"We  need  not  start  until  ten,  so  lay  aside  your  coat 
and  make  yourself  comfortable.  Do  you  know,  this 
will  be  my  first  experience  in  New  Year's  calls.  You 
had  better  coach  me  a  bit.  How  long  must  one  stay  ? 
How  much  must  one  eat?  and  what  is  the  proper  thing 
to  say?"  asked  Philip,  with  a  humorous  twinkle  in  his 
eye. 

"Oh,  I'll  risk  you,"  laughed  Wallace.  "Stay,  eat, 
and  talk,  as  long  as  you  choose.  The  customary  way 
with  most  of  the  fellows  is  to  see  how  many  calls  they 
can  make  and  how  much  wine  they  can  drink;  and  about 
midnight,  some  friend  helps  them  home  and  gives  them 
in  charge  of  the  footman  or  butler  who  has  been  on  the 
lookout,  and  pilots  his  master  to  his  room  without  dis- 
turbing the  family,  and  gets  a  generous  tip  in  the  morn- 
ing. This  is  what  they  call  having  a  jolly  good  time. 
I  used  to  be  one  of  them,  but  I  hope  never  to  be  again. 
I  can  now  see  where  it  was  leading  me.  Thank  God 
you  stopped  me,  Manning.  I  was  going  to  the  devil 
fast.  If  I  ever  amount  to  anything  as  a  man  it  will 
be  your  doing  '  and  he  placed  his  hand  affectionately 
upon  Philip's  shoulder. 

Later  the  two  young  men  left  the  hotel  in  a  coupe*. 
Their  first  call  was  at  the  Dunlaps'.  Manning  was 
surprised  to  see  the  blinds  all  closed  and  the  windows 
draped  with  heavy  curtains  to  exclude  the  sunshine, 
while  the  rooms  were  brilliantly  lighted  within.  Edith 
and  Jennie,  as  beautifully  dressed  as  for  a  grand  recep- 
tion, were  assisted  by  two  lady  friends,  in  receiving 
the  callers.  In  one  corner  of  the  room  was  a  table 
filled  with  cakes,   fruit  and  confectionery.    Another 


119 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

table  was  covered  with  glasses  and  bottles  and  a  huge 
punch  bowl.  Over  this  table  Jennie  presided,  and 
ladled  out  the  exhilarating  beverage  to  a  host  of  mas- 
culine admirers. 

As  Manning  and  Wallace  entered,  a  chorus  of 
"Happy  New  Years"  greeted  them,  and  they  were  es- 
corted to  the  table  to  partake  of  the  good  things.  They 
both  took  coffee  and  pronounced  it  delicious. 

"  Don't  come  near  me  unless  you  want  to  get 
punched,"  called  out  Jennie,  saucily,  poising  the  punch 
ladle.  Every  one  laughed  and  plenty  seemed  to  wish 
to  be  punched. 

Adolphus  was  present  in  a  suit  of  fashionable  plaid; 
his  collar,  of  startling  height,  was  encircled  by  a  cerise 
tie.  He  was  happy  and  contented  by  the  side  of  Jennie 
and  the  punch  bowl. 

"There  is  a  call  I  should  like  to  make,"  said  Wallace, 
as  they  drove  away;  "  but  I  am  afraid  you  would  not 
approve.  You  are  so  straight-laced  about  some 
things." 

"Where  is  it?"  asked  Philip,  gravely.  "I  don't  un- 
derstand why  you  should  wish  to  visit  any  questionable 
place  on  a  day  like  this,  the  beginning  of  a  new  year, 
when  all  our  plans  and  purposes  should  be  for  the 
better." 

"There,  there,  Manning,  don't  preach,"  entreated 
Wallace.  "Do  you  know,  old  man,  I  think  you  have 
missed  your  calling.  You  ought  to  have  been  a  min- 
ister.    Did  you  ever  think  of  it  ?" 

"Yes,  I  have  thought  of  it,"  replied  Manning,  seri- 
ously, "but  you  are  mistaken  as  to  my  abilities  in  that 


120 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

line.  I  am  no  orator.  I  lack  the  brilliancy  that  min- 
isters of  today  must  have.  I  might  be  sincere,  but  I 
should  be  stupid." 

"Well,  you  are  modest,"  laughed  Wallace.  "I  am 
glad  you  are  not  of  that  profession,  for  you  are  distress- 
ingly good  now;  but  I  should  not  dare  come  near  you 
if  you  wore  a  surplice,  knowing  my  unworthiness.  Now, 
about  this  call  I  should  like  to  make.  It  is  on  Madam 
Devereaux.  You  saw  her  in  the  park  the  other  day. 
You  saw  how  beautiful  she  is.  Well,  she  is  as  jolly 
and  witty  as  she  is  lovely.  I  used  to  be  one  of  her  chief 
admirers  but  I  have  not  called  on  her  lately.  What 
would  be  the  harm  of  our  making  her  a  New  Year's 
call?  She  lives  in  fine  style  and  would  treat  us 
royally." 

Philip  was  silent  for  a  few  moments,  then  said: 
"From  what  J  have  heard  of  the  woman,  she  is  unworthy 
of  our  notice.  She  may  be  beautiful  and  witty,  but  she 
uses  her  beauty  to  lure  young  men  to  their^ruin  and 
should  be  shunned  as  one  ^would  a  leper.  Take  my 
advice,  Wallace,  —  you  say  you  have  not  visited  her 
lately,  now  is  the  time  to^break  off  for  good.  There 
are  other  women  who  are  pure  and  good  as  well 
as  beautiful;  women  who  will  elevate  you  by  their 
society,  not  degrade  you.  These  are  the  women  to 
know." 

"Well,  perhaps  you  are  right,"  answered  Wallace, 
with  a  sigh,  "but  it's  mighty  hard  to  break  away  from 
all  the  fun  at  once.  I  shall  have  to  do  it  by  degrees. 
Why  is  it  the  devil  invents  all  the  good  times?"  he  said, 
in  such  a  discouraged  tone  that  Philip  laughed. 


121 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

"It  is  only  because  he  presents  them  in  an  alluring 
light,  to  attract  the  young.  A  better  acquaintance  with 
the  good  things  of  fife  will  give  you  a  more  wholesome 
appetite  in  the  future." 

So  the  subject  was  dropped,  but  the  words  spoken 
by  Manning  took  root  in  the  young  man's  heart,  and 
Wallace  never  called  upon  Madam  Devereaux 
again. 

They  made  several  more  calls,  and  late  in  the  after- 
noon, drew  up  in  front  of  the  Hutchinsons\  Manning 
was  getting  tired  of  making  calls.  He  had  seen  many 
of  the  young  men  already  unsteady  on  their  legs,  talk- 
ing idiotic  nonsense  to  young  girls  who  offered  them 
the  sparkling  wine  and  insisted  upon  their  health  being 
drunk. 

Several  ladies  had  urged  Wallace  to  drink,  and  pouted 
charmingly  when  he  refused;  but,  as  he  always  refused 
with  a  gay  compliment  given  in  his  bright,  boyish  way, 
they  could  not  be  offended. 

When  they  arrived  at  Dora's,  they  found  a  delightful 
change.  The  sunlight  was  not  excluded  and  instead 
of  a  close  room  filled  with  the  fumes  of  wine,  there  was 
sunshine  and  flowers  in  profusion.  The  tables  were 
beautiful  with  their  display  of  flowers,  fruit  and  dainty 
trifles.  There  was  cocoa,  coffee,  and  lemonade,  but 
no  reeking  punch  bowl  or  bottles  in  sight.  Manning's 
face  lighted  up  as  he  noticed  their  absence. 

"I  can  breathe  in  this  atmosphere,"  he  exclaimed, 
with  great  satisfaction.  "I  must  congratulate  you 
upon  having  the  most  inviting  room  I  have  entered  to- 
day." 


122 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

"That  is  true,"  said  Wallace,  emphatically,  "and 
I  mean  to  stay  a  while  and  enjoy  it,"  and  he 
seated  himself  in  a  big,  easy  chair  by  the  side  of 
Isabel. 

Dora  had  flushed  with  pleasure  at  Manning's  words 
of  praise.  The  girls  had  teased  her  about  banishing 
the  wine  from  her  New  Year's  table,  and  turning  tee- 
totaler because  Mr.  Manning  was  a  temperance  crank. 
She  had  taken  it  all  good-naturedly,  replying  that  she 
had  done  it  to  please  him,  and  she  did  not  care  who 
knew  it.  Harold  Graham  had  called  early  in  the  day 
and  had  noticed  there  was  no  wine  or  liquors.  Thii 
made  him  angry,  for  he  knew  why  they  had  been  left 
out.  "I  suppose  she  would  have  served  bread  and 
milk  if  Manning  had  advocated  it,"  he  said,  in  a  sarcas- 
tic tone  to  Kate. 

"I  shouldn't  wonder,"  she  replied,  "Dora  is  very 
obliging,"  and  she  laughed  knowingly. 

"I  must  hurry  Violet  up,"  he  thought  to  himself. 
"It  will  soon  be  too  late  by  the  indications.  I  believe 
she  is  in  love  with  the  fellow  already,"  and  he  ground 
his  teeth.     "Violet  must  work  faster." 

That  night  the  girls  did  not  retire  until  after  mid- 
night, and  they  congregated  in  Dora's  room  to  talk 
over  the  events  of  the  day. 

"It  was  amusing,"  said  Kate,  "to  watch  the  surprise 
and  disappointment  depicted  upon  some  of  the  faces 
of  the  young  men  as  they  looked  about  for  wine  or 
something  stronger  than  coffee.  I  am  afraid  you  will 
make  yourself  unpopular,  Dora,  if  you  insist  upon  keep- 
ing a  temperance  table." 


123 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

' 'If  they  only  value  my  friendship  for  the  amount  of 
wine  I  give  them,  I  can  do  very  well  without  their 
society,"  replied  Dora,  in  a  spirited  manner.  "  Our 
young  men  think  too  much  of  their  wine.  Someone 
had  better  check  them,  I  think.  Just  see  how  Wallace 
Dunlap  has  improved.  He  is  twice  the  man  he  was,  and 
I  know  a  few  others  who  would  be  greatly  benefitted  by 
leaving  wine  alone,  and  I  for  one  mean  to  remove  the 
temptation  in  my  house." 

"That's  right,  Dora,"  said  Isabel.  "I  admire  and 
sympathize  with  your  sentiments.  I  know  it  is  half 
our  fault  that  the  young  men  drink.  I  believe  I  shall 
turn  temperance  myself." 

"I  think  we'd  better  all  go  to  bed  instead  of  discuss- 
ing temperance Jany  longer,"  yawned  Mabel. 

"I  second  the  motion,"  said  Kate. 

"All  those  in  favor  of  the  motion  manifest  it  by 
rising."    All  sprang  to  their  feet. 

"It  is  a  vote,  so  scamper,"  and  Dora  playfully  drove 
them  from  the  room. 


124 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

IN  THE  TOILS. 

As  Spring  advanced,  Manning  set  carpenters,  masons 
and  decorators  to  work  remodelling  and  perfecting 
his  new  home.  He  subjected  all  his  plans  to  Dora  for 
approval  and  suggestions,  and  it  is  needless  to  say  that 
she  was  as  interested  as  he.  For  there  was  no  doubt 
in  her  mind  that  this  would  be  her  future  home,  and, 
like  a  sensible  girl,  she  did  not  hesitate  to  express  her 
preference  for  certain  changes. 

Manning  had  never  told  Dora  of  his  love  in  so  many 
words,  but  his  actions  and  looks  had  betrayed  the  state 
of  his  heart  many  times.  "I  want  Dad  and  Josie  to 
meet  her  before  I  ask  her  to  share  our  home,"  he  thought, 
and  Dora  instinctively  divined  his  reason  for  being  in 
no  hurry.  So  there  was  a  mutual  understanding,  al- 
though no  words  had  been  spoken. 

At  last  all  was  completed  as  far  as  Manning  desired, 
until  his  father  and  sister  came,  as  he  wished  to  consult 
their  wishes  in  regard  to  some  of  the  rooms.  He  was 
to  go  for  them  soon,  and  would  be  gone  several  weeks, 
in  order  to  settle  his  business  affairs  in  the  West. 

Dora  and  her  parents  had  urged  Manning  to  bring 
his  father  and  sister  directly  to  them  upon  their  arrival ; 
but  Manning,  though  greatly  pleased  by  their  kindness, 
declined,  saying  that  he  would  rather  take  them  directly 
to  their  new  home.    He  would  bring  their  old  house - 


125 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

keeper  with  them  to  superintend  the  servants  already 
in  charge.  He  felt  sure  his  father  would  prefer  it  to 
going  among  strangers,  no  matter  how  kind.  He  was 
anxious  to  start,  now  all  was  ready  for  their  reception, 
and  was  arranging  to  do  so  in  a  short  time. 

One  evening,  a  few  days  previous  to  his  departure, 
he  was  both  surprised  and  pleased  by  a  visit  from 
Violet.  He  was  always  glad  to  see  her,  she  was  so  lovely, 
bright  and  winsome.  Accepting  the  seat  he  offered  her, 
she  threw  back  her  hood  and  smiling  into  his  face  said : 
"I  have  some  news  to  tell  you  and  a  favor  to  ask."  , 

"I  hope  your  news  is  good  news,"  he  answered, 
kindly,  "and  I  shall  be  glad  to  do  any  favor  for  you." 

"You  are  the  only  gentleman  of  my  acquaintance 
that  I  would  be  willing  to  ask  such  a  favor  from.  But 
I  know  I  can  trust  you,  and  you  will  not  think  my  re- 
quest a  strange  one,  as  others  might,"  and  her  eyes 
beamed  upon  him.  "Do  you  remember  the  rich  aunt 
I  told  you  about  once  ?  mamma's  sister,  who  disowned 
her  after  she  married  poor  papa  ?  Well,  last  week  she 
died,  and  her  lawyers  have  notified  me  that  she  left 

me  a  furnished  house  in  the  suburb  of  N , 

and  a  neat  little  income  besides." 

"Is  that  so?  Why  this  is  news  indeed,"  and  Philip 
arose  with  outstretched  hand.  "Allow  me  to  congrat- 
ulate you,"  he  said,  in  his  warm,  impulsive  way.  "I 
am  delighted  to  hear  of  your  good  fortune." 

"I  knew  you  would  be  pleased,"  said  Violet,  clasp- 
ing his  hand.  "I  shall  not  be  obliged  to  wander  the 
streets  any  longer  with  a  basket  of  flowers  on  my  arm. 
I  shall  have  a  home  of  my  own,  and  many  things  which 

126 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

I  have  always  desired  but  could  never  obtain  for  lack 
of  funds.  You  see  Violet,  the  flower  girl,  for  the  last 
time.  I  shall  lay  aside  the  old  cloak  and  hood,  with 
the  basket,  after  tonight,  and  I  shall  be  dressed  as  other 
ladies  are." 

"I  shall  be  sorry  to  lose  my  little  flower  girl,"  said 
Manning,  regretfully.     "You  will  pass  out  of  my  life 

completely,  if  you  make  your  home  in  N . 

Among  new  acquaintances  I  shall  lose  track  of  you." 

"Not  unless  you  wish  to,"  she  replied.  "I  shall  not 
be  able  to  come  to  you,  but  you  can  come  to  me. 

N is  not  far  from  here.    I  shall  not  enjoy  my 

new  inheritance  if  by  it  I  lose  your  friendship,"  and  her 
beautiful  eyes  filled  with  tears. 

"Never  fear  that,"  said  Philip,  hastily.  "I  shall 
always  be  your  friend,  and,  as  you  say,  I  can  come  and 
see  you.  I  shall  certainly  do  so,  and  bring  my  sister 
with  me.  You  and  she  will  be  great  friends,  I  am  sure. 
You  spoke  of  some  favor  you  desired,  what  is  it?" 

"I  should  like  to  visit  my  new  home,  but  I  dread  to 
go  alone.  I  have  never  travelled  much  and  I  am  timid. 
I  know  nothing  about  the  place  and  I  want  you  to  go 
with  me,"  and  she  gazed  pleadingly  at  him. 

"Why,  yes,  I  can  go,"  replied  Manning.  "It  is  not 
safe  for  a  beautiful  young  girl  to  travel  alone,  espec- 
ially to  a  place  she  is  unfamiliar  with.  When  do  you 
want  to  go  ?  I  start  for  the  West  next  week,  so  we  shall 
have  to  go  this  week." 

"What  day  do  you  intend  to  start  West?"  asked 
Violet. 

"I  shall  start  Tuesday,"  replied  Manning. 


127 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 


"Then  I  will  be  ready  to  go  that  day,  as  N- 


is  directly  on  your  road.  It  will  only  detain  you  a  few 
hours  and  then  you  can  continue  your  journey  after 
seeing  me  in  my  new  home." 

This  seemed  satisfactory  to  Manning,  so  he  con- 
sented to  the  arrangement. 

"Where  shall  I  meet  you?"  he  asked. 

"I  will  be  at  the  depot,  and  I  thank  you  so  much  for 
granting  me  your  protection.  You  have  always  been 
so  good  to  me."  She  arose  and  tied  her  hood  under 
her  chin.  Taking  up  her  basket,  she  courtesied  co- 
quettishly,  "Say  good-bye  to  the  poor  flower  girl,"  she 
said,  gaily,  "You  will  never  see  her  more." 

She  looked  so  sweet  and  roguish,  Manning  could 
scarcely  keep  from  catching  her  in  his  arms  and  kissing 
the  saucy  lips.  Not  one  man  in  a  hundred  could  have 
resisted  the  temptation,  but  Philip  had  never  been  free 
with  women.  He  had  always  treated  them  with  great 
reverence,  so  he  only  laughed  and  bade  her  good- 
night. 

Violet  went  directly  home,  as  she  knew  Harold. 
Graham  was  anxiously  awaiting  her.  When  she  en- 
tered the  drawing  room,  she  found  him  pacing  the 
floor  impatiently. 

"  What  an  infernally  long  time  you  have  been,  Violet," 
he  exclaimed,  upon  her  entrance. 

Violet  coolly  removed  her  cloak  and  hood  and  seated 
herself  before  the  fire. 

"Well,"  exclaimed  Harold,  anxiously,  drawing  up  a 
chair  opposite  her,  "What  are  the  arrangements? 
Could  you  get  his  consent  ?" 

128 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

"Everything  is  satisfactorily  arranged,"  answered 
Violet,  wearily.  "I  am  to  meet  him  at  the  depot  next 
Tuesday,  and  you  can  have  Miss  Hutchinson  on  hand 
to  witness  our  elopement.  Poor  fellow,  I  feel  like  a 
great,  ugly  spider  coaxing  a  poor,  little,  unwary  fly, 
into  my  net.  He  is  so  kind-hearted  and  unsuspecting, 
and  I  am  such  a  little  wretch.  He  thinks  me  a  good, 
innocent  girl,  fit  to  be  his  sister's  friend.  Oh,  if  he 
only  knew!"  and  something  like  a  sob  broke  her  voice. 

"Now,  Violet,  don't  get  weak-kneed  just  on  the  eve 
of  success.  You  have  everything  in  your  hands  now, 
and  if,  as  I  suspect,  you  have  learned  to  care  for  him, 
make  him  marry  you.  You  can  do  it,  and  I  will  write 
you  a  check  for  the  ten  thousand  for  a  wedding  present." 

Violet  shrugged  her  shoulders  impatiently.  "If  I 
marry  him,  I  will  never  touch  a  penny  of  your  money." 

"Oh,  well,  just  as  you  please,"  answered  Harold, 
nonchalantly.    "I  shall  be  that  much  better  off." 

The  next  day  Harold  called  on  Dora,  and  adroitly 
led  the  conversation  to  Manning's  intended  trip 
West. 

"When  he  goes,  I  hope  he  will  stay  there  and  never 
show  his  deceitful  face  in  these  parts  again,"  he  ex- 
claimed, fiercely. 

"Now,  Harold,  I  do  not  want  to  hear  any  more  of 
your  unkind  remarks  about  Mr.  Manning,"  said  Dora. 
"  I  never  could  understand  your  dislike  for  a  man  as 
upright  and  honorable  as  he  is." 

"I  dislike  him,"  Harold  replied,  vehemently,  "be- 
cause I  have  seen  through  his  sanctimonious  disguise, 
ever  since  he  made  his  appearance  among  us.     I  have 


129 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

watched  him  charm  you  all  with  his  big,  brown  eyes  and 
soft  voice,  until  old  friends  were  forsaken  and  disap- 
proved of,  because  they  did  not  worship  at  his  shrine. 
I  have  watched  and  waited  for  an  opportunity  to  un- 
mask him,  and  at  last  I  have  my  reward.  The  time 
has  come  when  I  can  prove  his  falseness." 

Dora  had  listened  with  crimson  cheeks  and  flashing 
eyes.  "Harold,  are  you  losing  your  senses?"  she  ex- 
claimed, angrily.  "How  dare  you  say  such  things? 
What  has  he  ever  done  to  make  you  hate  him  so  ?  You 
cannot  prove  one  word  you  are  saying,  and  no  one  who 
knows  Philip  Manning,  will  believe  one  word  ill  of 
him." 

"I  can  prove  all  I  say,"  replied  Harold,  pale  with 
emotion.  "I  can  prove  that  he  receives  visits  from  a 
notorious  woman  in  his  rooms,  at  his  hotel,  that  he  takes 
her  to  drive,  and  to  cap  the  climax,  she  will  accompany 
him  on  his  western  trip.  I  hardly  think  he  will  take 
her  to  his  home,  but  there  are  plenty  of  stopping  places 
for  such  as  they." 

Dora  sprang  to  her  feet  pale  and  trembling  with  ex- 
citement and  anger.  "Harold  Graham,"  she  cried,  in 
a  husky  tone,  "I  want  you  to  leave  this  house  and  never 
dare  to  enter  it  again  or  speak  to  me.  All  friendship 
and  acquaintance  are  at  an  end  between  us.  You  have 
basely  maligned  a  man  whose  shoes  you  are  not  worthy 
to  clean.  Did  you  think  I  would  believe  your  lies? 
If  you  did,  you  are  mistaken.  I  do  not  believe  one 
word  you  have  uttered.  Now  go,"  and  she  pointed  to 
the  door,  her  slender  figure  drawn  to  its  utmost  height 
and  her  face  full  of  scorn. 


130 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

Harold  arose,  and,  taking  his  hat  and  gloves,  moved 
towards  the  door.  Turning,  he  said :  "  I  obey  you,  Miss 
Hutchinson,  but  I  reiterate  that  what  I  have  said  is  true, 
and,  if  you  are  at  the  depot  at  9.30  Tuesday  morning, 
you  will  see  Philip  Manning  and  the  notorious  Violet 
Devereaux  leave  for  the  West  together, "  and  he  passed 
from  the  room,  leaving  Dora  dizzy  and  stunned  by  his 
last  words. 

"Violet  Devereaux!  No,  no  ;  it  cannot  be!  I  will 
not  believe  it;  it  is  a  lie  from  his  own  black,  jealous 
heart;  I  could  not  be  so  deceived."  She  sank  into  a 
chair  and  burst  into  hysterical  weeping.  Fearing 
someone  might  enter  and  find  her  in  tears,  she  man- 
aged to  reach  her  room;  and,  when  Manning  called  that 
evening,  he  was  told  she  had  retired  with  a  severe  head- 
ache and  could  not  see  him. 

The  next  morning  Dora's  pale  face  and  heavy  eyes 
greatly  alarmed  her  parents;  but  she  assured  them  she 
was  better,  and  positively  refused  to  see  the  family 
physician  as  her  father  desired. 

Mr.  Hutchinson  lingered  over  his  coffee  and  paper 
until  his  daughter  had  finished  her  breakfast  and  left 
the  room;  then,  turning  an  anxious  face  to  his  wife,  he 
inquired  the  cause  of  Dora's  indisposition. 

"I  know  no  more  about  it  than  you  do,"  she  replied. 
"Harold  Graham  called  in  the  afternoon.  After  he  had 
gone,  I  went  in  search  of  Dora,  and  found  her  in  her 
room,  lying  on  the  sofa,  with  the  room  darkened  and  a 
wet  towel  over  her  face.  To  my  inquiries  she  said 
her  head  ached,  and  she  should  not  come  down  to  dinner 
and  to  excuse  her  to  all  callers.     '  To  Mr.  Manning? ' 


131 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

1  asked.  'Yes,  even  to  him,'  she  replied.  I  did  all  I 
could  to  make  her  comfortable  and  left  her." 

"Something  unusual  must  have  happened  to  upset 
her  so,"  said  Mr.  Hutchinson,  frowning.  "She  is  not 
subject  to  headaches.  You  say  Harold  called;  perhaps 
they  quarrelled;  but,  no,  they  have  quarrelled  all  their 
lives;  it  could  not  be  that.  I  sincerely  hope  it  has  noth- 
ing to  do  with  Manning.  Could  she  be  grieving  over 
his  going  away,  do  you  think  ?"  and  he  looked  enquir- 
ingly at  his  wife. 

"No,  I  think  not,"  she  replied.  "He  called  last 
evening  and  seemed  disappointed  at  not  seeing  her. 
He  sat  and  talked  with  me  a  while  before  he  left.  How 
I  have  grown  to  love  that  young  man.  It  would  break 
my  heart  if  anything  should  occur  to  separate  him  and 
Dora.    I  know  they  love  each  other." 

"Then  what  could  possibly  come  between  them?" 
exclaimed  Dora's  father.  "I  see  no  reason  to  fear  that 
he  will  not  do  everything  that  is  honorable  and  right 
when  the  proper  time  comes.  I  am  willing  and  anxious 
to  give  them  my  blessing  and  know  the  thing  is  settled, 
for  he  has  grown  into  my  heart  as  well  as  yours." 

Dora  knew  Philip  would  call  to  bid  her  good-bye, 
that  evening,  and  she  did  not  wish  him  to  find  her  pale 
and  agitated.  He  might  think  she  was  grieving  over 
his  departure,  and  as  yet  he  had  given  her  no  right  to 
express  such  grief.  She  wished  he  had.  She  wished 
she  could  throw  her  arms  about  him  and  cry  out  upon 
his  breast  —  not  to  leave  her,  or  else  to  take  her  with 
him;  but  this  she  could  not  do.  Women  are  so  ham- 
pered by  custom  and  conventionality,  that  the  flood- 

132 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

gates  of  the  heart  must  be  kept  closed  until  the  man 
speaks;  although  the  pressure  is  sometimes  overwhelm- 
ing. So  Dora  met  Philip  with  smiling  lips,  though  her 
heart  was  like  lead.  He  came  forward  in  his  boyish, 
impulsive  way,  and  seemed  so  solicitous  and  anxious 
about  her  health,  that  her  heart  grew  lighter.  Could  a 
man  with  such  a  face  be  a  hypocrite  and  a  deceiver? 
No,  it  could  not  be  possible.  She  was  ashamed  to 
think  that  she  had  allowed  Harold's  words  to  distress 
her  so  much.  She  was  so  gracious  and  entertaining 
that  evening,  that  Manning  could  hardly  resist  telling 
her  of  his  love  and  asking  her  to  become  his  wife. 
He  did  not  speak  the  words,  but  he  kissed  both  little 
hands  when  he  bade  her  good-bye,  and  told  her  he 
should  hurry  his  business  in  the  West  as  rapidly  as 
possible,  that  he  might  return  to  her. 

After  his  departure,  Dora  felt  very  desolate  and  heart- 
sick. All  her  old  forebodings  returned.  "I  feel  as 
though  I  had  parted  with  him  forever,"  she  thought. 
The  last  words  of  Harold  Graham  rang  in  her  ears  — 
"If  you  go  to  the  depot  Tuesday  morning,  you  will  see 
him  depart  with  Violet  Devereaux."  "I  would  scorn 
to  do  such  a  thing,"  she  told  herself.  "I  would  not 
lower  myself  to  spy  upon  one  I  loved;  I  should  be  un- 
worthy of  him." 

All  that  night,  she  tossed  and  turned  upon  her  pil- 
low; she  could  not  sleep.  "Oh,  if  I  only  knew  for  cer- 
tain that  he  went  alone.  This  uncertainty  will  kill  me," 
she  moaned. 

She  arose  the  next  morning,  pale  and  haggard  from 
her  sleepless  night.    She  pushed  aside  the  curtain  and 


i33 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

gazed  out.  The  sun  was  just  rising;  it  was  going  to  be 
bright  and  clear,  and  Philip  was  going  at  9.30. 9  Would 
he  go  alone  ?  "  God  forgive  me,  I  must  know  the  truth 
or  I  shall  go  mad."  Calling  her  maid,  she  gave  instruc- 
tions that  she  must  not  be  disturbed  until  lunch,  "no' 
even^mamma,"  she  said.  After  dismissing  the  maid, 
Dora  went  to  a  closet  and  began  searching  among  the 
dresses.  At  last  she  brought  forth  a  plain  tailor-made 
suit  of  dark  brown,  and  put  it  on.  After  coiling  her 
hair  tight  and  snug,  she  put  on  a  brown  walking  hat, 
then  enveloped  both  hat  and  hair  in  a  thick,  brown 
veil.  After  her  disguise  was  completed,  she  went  to  the 
door,  opened  it  cautiously,  and  looked  out  into  the 
hall.  She  stood  listening  a  few  minutes,  then  closed 
the  door  and  locked  it,  then  hurried  noiselessly  down 
the  stairs  and  out  into  the  street. 


i34 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

DID  HE  RESIST  HER? 

Tuesday  morning  Wallace  Dunlap  ran  in  to  say 
good-bye  to  Manning.  "I  am  sorry  I  cannot  go  to  the 
depot  and  see  you  off,"  he  said,  "but  I  have  an  ap- 
pointment at  9.30,  so  must  bid  you  good-bye  here." 
He  grasped  Manning's  hand  fervently.  "I  shall  be 
lonesome  without  you ;  hurry  back,  old  chap,  and  bring 
that  brown-eyed  sister  of  yours.  I  am  positive  I  shall 
fall  in  love  with  her  at  first  sight,  if  she  is  anything  like 
her  brother." 

Manning  responded  heartily  to  the  handshake.  "It 
is  a  case'of  necessity,  or  I  should  not  make  this  trip," 
he  said.  "I  have  made  so  many  friends  here  that  I 
feel  more  at  home  than  I  shall  to  go  back  to  the  West. 
When  I  have  my  father  and  sister  with  me,  the  West 
will  hold  no  further  attraction  for  me." 

"I  am  glad  to  hear  you  say  that,"  responded  Wallace. 
"We  treated  you  pretty  shabby  at  first,  but  you  con- 
quered us;  and  we  should  hate  to  lose  you  now  that  we 
know  your  worth.  Well,  good  luck  to  you,  I  must  be 
off."  He  ran  down  the  steps  and  disappeared  among 
the  hurrying  crowd. 

Shortly  after  nine,  Manning  entered  the  depot  and 
looked  for  Violet.  She  was  not  in  the  waiting  room 
nor  on  the  platform.  He  was  beginning  to  consult  his 
watch  and  feel  anxious,  when  a  carriage  drove  up  and 


J35 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

Violet  alighted.  Manning  hastened  to  meet  her,  and 
took  the  little  satchel  she  carried  in  her  hand. 

"I  was  afraid  something  had  detained  you,"  he  said, 
with  a  look  of  relief. 

"  Oh,  no,  I  did  not  want  to  be  too  early,"  she  replied, 
with  a  bright  smile. 

They  entered  the  car  which  stood  waiting,  and  passed 
out  of  sight. 

A  woman,  clad  in  brown,  her  face  concealed  by  a 
heavy  veil,  watched  the  train  as  it  disappeared  from 
view,  then  turned  and  walked  slowly  away. 

Violet  was  dressed  in  a  pretty  travelling  costume, 
and  attracted  many  admiring  glances.  Manning  was 
not  slow  to  notice  this,  and  congratulated  himself  on 
being  able  to  protect  so  lovely  a  girl  from  possible  un- 
pleasantness. He  supplied  her  with  magazines  and 
fruit,  and  she  in  her  turn  made  herself  so  agreeable  and 
fascinating  that  Manning  was  charmed,  and  several 
times  wished  she  was  going  the  entire  distance  with  him. 

"  I  believe  you  are  the  same  young  lady  I  took  to  drive 
once,"  he  said,  merrily.  "I  have  not  seen  you  since 
until  today." 

"  I  am  glad  you  remember  me,  I  was  afraid  you  might 
forget  me.  You  seemed  more  interested  in  that  flower 
girl.  I  think  I  was  a  little  jealous,  but  I  have  got  rid  of 
her.  She  will  never  trouble  me  again,"  and  Violet 
laughed  gaily. 

It  was  about  a  three  hours'  ride  to  N ,  a 

small  suburban  station.  There  were  only  two  others 
that  alighted  with  Manning  and  Violet,  and  they 
were  met  by  an  old  farmer  with  a  team,  and  quickly 

.  '36 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

driven  away,  leaving  Manning  and  Violet  alone  with  the 
station  agent  who  gave  them  directions  where  to  find 
the  Norton  place. 

"It  is  about  a  mile  from  here,"  he  said.  "You  go 
down  that  street,"  pointing  to  the  village  thoroughfare, 
"until  you  come  to  a  road  crossing  the  street;  turn  to 
your  left,  and  it  is  the  fourth  house,  with  two  big  maples 
in  front.    You  can't  miss  it." 

"Can  we  get  a  conveyance  of  any  kind  to  take  us 
there?"  inquired  Manning. 

"No,"  replied  the  agent,  "the  bus  only  meets  the 
eleven  o'clock  train  and  there  are  no  carriages.  Every- 
one here  in  the  country  walks,  or  their  friends  meet 
them." 

"I  would  rather  walk,"  said  Violet,  eagerly.  "I  am 
tired  of  riding,  and  it  will  be  delightful  to  walk  along 
these  country  roads.  Everything  looks  so  fresh  and 
green, —  even  the  people,"  and  she  laughed  roguishly. 

They  walked  down  the  village  street,  past  the  few 
stores  and  out  upon  the  country  road.  "There  is  the 
first  house,"  said  Violet,  as  they  came  in  sight  of  a  pretty 
white  cottage,  "now  three  more,  and  we  shall  be  there. 
I  never  knew  that  aunt  lived  in  such  an  out-of-the-way 
place.  I  hardly  think  I  shall  care  to  live  so  far  out. 
It  will  be  lonesome  after  the  life  and  stir  of  a  big  city." 

"Now,  I  should  prefer  it,"  said  Manning.  "I  love 
the  country.  You  know  I  was  brought  up  on  a  farm. 
This  is  a  lovely  old  road;  what  grand  shade  trees! 
Here  we  are  at  the  second  house,  and  there  is  the  third, 
near  by.  We  cannot  be  far  from  the  fourth,  your  new 
home!" 


I37 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 


After  the  third  house  had  been  passed,  it  was  quite 
a  distance  before  they  came  to  the  house  they  were 
looking  for. 

"  There,  I  see  a  tall  chimney  among  those  trees," 
exclaimed  Violet,  "we  are  almost  there,"  and  so  it 
proved. 

It  was  a  pretty,  vine-covered  cottage,  set  back  among 
old-fashioned  shrubbery.  Opening  the  gate,  they 
walked  down  a  broad,  smooth  path,  bordered  on  either 
side  with  flowers  and  shrubs. 

"I  am  so  glad  you  are  with  me,"  said  Violet,  bestow- 
ing a  beaming  glance  of  gratitude  upon  Philip.  "I 
should  never  have  had  the  courage  to  come  alone.  I 
believe  the  place  is  in  the  hands  of  an  old  servant  of 
aunt's;  according  to  the  will,  she  is  to  be  allowed  to 
stay  here  the  remainder  of  her  life." 

Manning  lifted  the  heavy,  old-fashioned  knocker, 
and  pealed  forth  a  summons  to  anyone  within.  Soon 
a  shuffling  step  was  heard  in  the  hall,  a  bolt  was  with- 
drawn, and  the  door  opened  by  an  old  woman,  bent  with 
age  and  rheumatism,  who  peered  inquiringly  at  her 
visitors. 

"I  am  Mrs.  Norton's  niece,"  said  Violet.  "I  have 
come  to  take  a  look  at  my  new  home." 

The  old  woman  opened  the  door  wide,  and  stepped 
aside  with  a  little  bob  intended  for  a  courtesy,  and  they 
entered  the  house. 

"Now,  if  you  will  find  us  something  good  to  eat," 
said  Violet,  "we  will  take  care  of  ourselves  and  examine 
the  house  at  our  leisure.  Let  us  know  when  lunch  is 
ready,  for  we  are  nearly  famished." 


138 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

The  old  woman  courtesied  again  and  retired  to  the 
rear  of  the  house,  while  Philip  and  Violet  entered  the 
first  room  they  came  to,  which  proved  to  be  the  parlor. 
It  was  prettily  furnished  and  showed  that  its  former 
owner  possessed  good  taste.  Opening  into  this  room 
was  a  sitting  room,  and  back  of  that  a  library,  well 
filled  with  standard  works.  They  made  an  inventory 
of  all  the  rooms,  Violet  insisting  that  Manning  should 
accompany  her  from  garret  to  cellar.  It  was  amusing 
and  they  enjoyed  it  like  a  couple  of  children.  There 
were  pictures  and  old  pieces  of  bric-a-brac  to  examine 
and  comment  upon. 

"It  is  a  dear  little  nest  of  a  house,,,  said  Violet,  "and 
I  know  I  shall  enjoy  it,  but  I  must  have  company.  I 
would  not  live  here  alone  with  only  that  old  woman  for 
the  world." 

"She  will  marry  soon,  no  doubt,"  thought  Manning, 
"so  as  to  have  a  mate  in  the  nest  for  company.  Well, 
whoever  the  lucky  man  is,  he  will  draw  a  prize.  If  I 
had  never  met  Dora,  I  might  imagine  myself  in  love 
with  her;  but  beautiful  as  she  is,  she  cannot  quite  equal 
my  Dora." 

Violet  had  left  him  while  she  investigated  the  kitchen 
and  dining  room.  When  she  returned  she  brought  the 
welcome  news  that  lunch  was  ready.  They  were  both 
hungry  and  did  ample  justice  to  the  broiled  chicken, 
snowy  biscuit,  and  fragrant  coffee. 

"This  reminds  me  of  the  last  time  I  poured  coffee 
for  you,  when  you  gave  me  that  delightful  ride  last 
fall,"  said  Violet. 

"I  hope  it  will  not  be  the  last  time,"  he  replied,  with 


139 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

a  tender  glance.  "I  shall  come  to  see  how  you  are 
getting  on  occasionally,  and  I  am  very  fond  of 
coffee." 

Violet  smiled  sweetly.  "  It  will  all  depend  upon  your- 
self," she  replied. 

After  lunch  they  went  into  the  garden  in  the  rear  of 
the  house.  The  air  was  sweet  with  the  perfume  of 
apple  blossoms  and  lilacs.  Time  passed  quickly,  and 
only  the  rays  of  the  setting  sun  warned  Manning  that 
he  must  be  going;  but  when  he  spoke  of  it,  Violet  looked 
frightened,  and  entreated  him  not  to  leave  her. 

"But  I  must,"  he  exclaimed,  in  perplexity;  "I  cannot 
stay  all  night." 

"Why  not?"  she  asked,  innocently.  "There  are 
plenty  of  rooms  and  plenty  to  eat.  What  difference 
will  a  few  hours  make  in  your  journey?  And  I  will 
not  stay  here  all  alone  with  only  that  old  woman  in  the 
house.  I  will  walk  back  to  the  village  first.  There 
is  no  train  back  to  the  city;  you  must  not  leave 
me." 

Manning  was  sadly  perplexed.  He  disliked  to  leave 
her  alone,  and  still  he  knew  it  was  not  the  proper  thing 
to  remain.  He  looked  so  undecided,  that  Violet  was 
afraid  he  would  insist  upon  going,  and  it  required  but 
little  effort  on  her  part  to  burst  into  tears.  Manning 
was  at  once  terribly  distressed.  Few  men  can  with- 
stand a  beautiful  woman  in  tears;  certainly  not  such  a 
tender-hearted  man  as  was  Manning.  He  could  not 
leave  her  like  this.  Of  course  it  was  not  the  proper 
thing  to  do,  but  there  was  no  one  to  comment.  No 
one  knew  of  his  being  here  alone  with  a  beautiful,  un- 


140 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

protected  girl,  only  the  old  serving  woman,  and  she 
seemed  too  stupid  to  notice  any  lack  of  propriety. 
So  he  begged  Violet  to  dry  her  eyes  and  he  would  stay. 

Her  object  accomplished,  Violet  was  soon  her  bright 
happy  self  again.  They  watched  the  last  rays  of  the 
setting  sun  together,  and  listened  to  the  good-night 
chirp  of  the  birds.  Then  the  lamps  were  lighted,  and 
the  curtains  drawn.  Violet  had  never  appeared  so 
lovely  and  fascinating.  She  sparkled  with  fun  and  wit, 
and  kept  Manning  continually  laughing  at  her  droll 
remarks. 

After  the  first  qualms  of  conscience  had  subsided, 
he  gave  himself  up  to  the  enjoyment  of  Violet's  society. 
Not  a  shadow  of  guile  filled  his  heart.  His  thoughts 
and  demeanor  were  as  free  from  sensuality  as  a  child's. 
Violet  tried  every  art  within  her  power  to  arouse  the 
sentimental  side  of  this  man's  nature;  but  without  avail. 
She  amused  him,  he  admired  her,  but  that  was  all. 
No  man  had  ever  been  so  indifferent  to  her  charms. 
Her  eyes  filled  with  angry  tears.  She  loved  this  man, 
with  his  tender  eyes  and  unconquerable  heart.  She 
longed  for  his  caresses,  but  these,  from  the  only  man 
she  ever  desired,  seemed  unattainable,  and  his  value 
was  greatly  enhanced  by  that  fact.  "I  cannot  win  him 
by  fair  means,"  she  thought  bitterly.  "I  must  resort 
to  stronger  measures." 

Late  in  the  evening,  coffee  and  cake  were  brought 
in.  Watching  her  opportunity,  she  dropped  a  little 
powder  into  Manning's  cup,  and  smiled  wickedly,  as 
she  watched  him  drink  the  contents.  "If  this  fails 
me,  I  shall  try  no  more,"  she  murmured. 


141 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

After  the  tray  had  been  removed,  Manning  was  con- 
scious of  a  delicious  languor  stealing  over  him.  He  had 
no  desire  to  move  or  speak,  only  to  gaze  at  the  beauti- 
ful woman  before  him.  The  languor  was  not  oppres- 
sive. He  seemed  to  be  fully  as  conscious  as  ever,  ji  but 
he  felt  ecstatically  happy.  He  saw  Violet  rise  from  her 
chair  and  pass  into  the  next  room.  He  felt  the  chill 
of  her  absence.  She  soon  returned,  and  stood  before 
him,  a  vision  of  rare  loveliness.  She  had  changed  her 
costume,  and  was  now  arrayed  in  an  exquisite  dress 
of  pale  green  silk  which  revealed  her  snowy  neck  and 
arms;  her  beautiful  hair  was  unbound  and  enveloped 
her  in  a  golden  maze. 

Philip  gazed  upon  her,  conscious  of  no  astonishment 
at  her  strange  appearance;  only  supreme  happiness  at 
her  return,  and  wonderful  beauty.  Violet  slowly  re- 
treated from  his  side,  and  poised  herself  upon  her  toes; 
lifting  her  arms  above  her  head,  she  looked  to  Philip 
like  a  bird  poised  for  flight.  Her  body  slowly  swayed 
in  graceful  curves.  She  began  dancing  her  famous 
dance,  "The  Siren,"  that  had  brought  her  thunders 
of  applause  from  adoring  audiences  night  after  night 
at  the  "La  Favorita."  She  was  a  lovely  dancer,  and 
made  a  charming  picture,  with  her  lithe,  graceful  form, 
bewildering  array  of  sea-green  skirts,  golden  hair,  and 
slender  waving  arms.  All  the  time,  the  laughing  blue 
eyes  smiled  into  the  brown  ones  fastened  upon  her  with 
such  fascinated  intensity.  Never  was  bird  more  success- 
fully charmed  by  a  serpent,  than  was  this  man,  by  the 
beautiful  dancing  woman  before  him. 

She  smiled  into  his  eves,  and  he  smiled  back.     She 


142 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

advanced  and  retreated  before  him,  shaking  back  her 
golden  hair.  Watching  her  victim  with  the  practiced 
eye  of  a  serpent,  she  notes  the  time  to  strike.  With  a 
light,  graceful  bound,  she  reaches  his  side,  and  kneeling 
upon  the  floor,  she  wreathes  her  soft  arms  about  his 
neck,  her  beautiful  face  is  close  to  his,  while  she  mur- 
murs in  a  low,  sweet  voice,"  Philip  —  " 

"Violet/'  he  answers. 

4 'Do  you  love  me?" 

"Yes." 


143 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

THE  HOME   IN  THE   WEST. 

In  a  far-a-way  home  in  the  West,  a  young  girl  is  ar- 
ranging a  huge  bowl  of  apple  blossoms  for  the  center 
of  the  breakfast  table.  The  early  May  sunshine  floods 
the  room  and  lingers  lovingly  on  the  brown-eyed  maiden, 
as  she  frequently  buries  her  face  in  the  snowy  blossoms. 
It  is  Philip's  sister;  anyone  would  recognize  the  rela- 
tionship, who  had  ever  seen  Philip.  She  has  the  same 
soft  eyes,  and  thick,  dark,  wavy  brown  hair;  a  sweet, 
sensitive  mouth  and  dimpled  chin.  Her  figure,  though 
slight,  is  well  developed  and  graceful.  She  is  not  tall, 
and  looks  younger  than  her  age,  which  is  nineteen. 

An  old  man  enters  the  room  and  stands  by  the  young 
girPs  side,  watching  her  with  loving  eyes. 

"Philip  loves  apple  blossoms,"  remarks  the  girl, 
stepping  back  from  the  table  and  admiring  her  work. 

1  'Yes,  Philip  loves  apple  blossoms  and  we  love 
Philip,"  says  the  old  man. 

"And  Philip  loves  us,"  replies  Josie,  with  a  bright 
smile.     "He  has  not  changed  in  that  respect  at  least." 

"Do  you  think  him  changed  in  any  other  respect?" 
asks  the  old  man,  anxiously. 

"Oh,  no;  not  in  particular.  I  suppose  city  life  has 
sobered  him  somewhat.  He  is  not  as  gay  and  lively  as 
he  used  to  be.  He  seems  so  grave  and  thoughtful, 
that  is  all.  But  here  he  comes,  now  we  will  have  break- 
fast." 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

Philip  Manning  entered  the  cheerful  little  dining 
room,  sweet  with  the  odor  of  apple  blossoms.  He 
wore  a  rough,  gray  tweed  suit,  and  an  old  straw 
hat. 

Josie  sprang  to  his  side.  "  Now,  Phil,  you  look  more 
like  yourself.  I  was  almost  afraid  of  you  last  night 
you  looked  so  stylish  and  citified,  but  your  old  gray  suit 
and  that  hat  have  restored  you  to  your  former  self." 

"  Yes,  Philip  is  himself  again,"  chuckled  the  old  man. 
"  Ah,  my  boy,  it  does  my  heart  good  to  see  you  once  more. 
You  must  never  leave  me  again.  I  am  too  old  to  bear 
another  separation." 

"No,  indeed,  father,  I  will  never  leave  you  again," 
replied  Philip.  "When  I  return  to  the  city,  you  and 
Josie  shall  go  with  me." 

"But  I  do  not  think  I  shall  enjoy  city  life,"  said  the 
old  man,  in  a  plaintive  tone.  "  You  know  I  have  always 
lived  in  the  country  with  the  birds  and  the  flowers  and 
plenty  of  fresh  air." 

"You  will  not  live  in  the  city,  father,  the  home  I  have 
prepared  for  you  is  quite  a  distance  from  the  noisy  city, 
and  you  will  have  the  birds  and  the  flowers  there,  as 
well  as  plenty  of  fresh  air,  and  many  comforts  and  con- 
veniences that  you  cannot  get  here." 

"  I  know  it  must  be  a  lovely  place  from  what  you  have 
told  us  about  it.  I  am  so  anxious  to  see  it,"  and  Josie's 
brown  eyes  sparkled  with  a  young  girl's  enthusiasm. 
"I  tell  Mrs.  Croft  she  will  have  to  wear  a  black  silk 
gown  and  a  lace  cap  every  day.  She  laughed  and  said, 
if  she  did,  everybody  would  mistake  her  for  the  mis- 
tress. " 


145 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

"You  must  get  her  rigged  up,  Josie,"  said  Philip, 
impressively,  "for  if  she  made  her  appearance  in  the 
clothes  she  wears  around  here,  the  servants  would  never 
submit  to  her  authority.  You  have  no  idea  how  the 
city  servants  dress.  You  are  all  right  when  you  talk 
about  a  silk  dress  and  a  lace  cap.  That  is  the  proper 
costume  for  a  housekeeper." 

"If  she  wears  silks  and  lace,  what  am  I  to  wear?" 
laughed  Josie. 

"Oh,  you  will  wear  satin  and  diamonds,"  replied 
Philip,  with  an  answering  laugh. 

There  was  plenty  of  work  for  Manning  in  the  next 
three  weeks.  The  farm  and  stock  were  sold  to  nearby 
farmers,  and  much  of  the  old-fashioned  furniture  was 
to  go  with  the  house.  There  were  pictures  and  books 
to  pack,  and  many  articles  of  value  to  Josie  because  they 
were  once  her  mother's.  Mrs.  Croft  could  hardly  be 
restrained  from  packing  all  the  china  and  kitchen  uten- 
sils. "  But  I  shall  need  them,"  she  would  say  to  Josie's 
remonstrances. 

"No,  Philip  says  not  to  pack  anything  but  the  blue- 
edged  set,  and  the  solid  silver.  You  will  find  all  you 
need  when  you  get  to  the  new  home." 

Mrs.  Croft  obeyed  with  reluctance,  and  handled 
many  an  article  that  she  did  not  believe  they  would  have 
in  the  city,  and  slyly  packed  away  various  things  dear 
to  her  heart  from  long  association. 

Josie  had  questioned  her  brother  so  closely  with  re- 
gard to  his  friends  in  the  city,  that  she  felt  quite  well 
acquainted  with  them.  She  had  discovered  with  a 
sister's  intuition  that  her  brother  was  in  love  with  the 

146 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

beautiful  Miss  Hutchinson,  and  she  listened  patiently 
to  his  raptures  of  her  beauty,  goodness  and  charm  of 
manner.  She  was  sure  she  should  love  Aunt  Helen, 
and  was  prepared  to  like  Wallace  Dunlap;  the  others 
she  was  uncertain  about.  "I  know  I  shall  be  shy  and 
awkward  and  countrified  at  first,  and  my  dresses  are 
all  behind  the  times.  I  am  glad  we  are  going  right  home 
instead  of  among  strangers.  I  shall  get  some  new  gowns 
before  I  appear  among  your  friends,  so  you  will  not  be 
ashamed  of  me." 

"Miss  Hutchinson  can  tell  you  about  dress-makers 
and  style,"  said  Philip.  "You  should  see  her  dressed 
for  a  ball.  The  first  time  I  saw  her  she  nearly  paralyzed 
me  with  her  beauty.  I  long  to  see  you  dressed  in  those 
soft,  fleecy-looking  robes,  that  are  so  impossible  to  de- 
scribe, but  lovely  to  look  upon." 

"I  don't  think  Miss  Hutchinson's  dresses  would  be 
very  becoming  to  my  brown  skin  and  long  brown  arms. 
She,  with  her  golden  hair  and  fair  complexion  can  wear 
those  soft,  fleecy,  delicate-hued  fabrics,  but  I  must 
have  a  dash  of  color." 

"I  guess  you  are  right,"  answered  her  brother,  look- 
ing at  her  critically.  "You  are  a  very  pretty  girl,  Josie, 
if  you  are  a  little  brownie,  and  in  an  up-to-date  gown, 
you  could  hold  your  own  with  any  of  them." 

Josie  responded  to  his  compliment  with  a  hug  and 
a  kiss.  She  dearly  loved  this  tall,  handsome  brother 
of  hers,  and  a  word  of  praise  from  him  was  very  dear 
to  her. 

The  next^day  they  paid  a  farewell  visit  to  their 
mother's  grave.    She  was  buried  in  the  little  cemetery 

H7 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

adjoining  the  church  where  she  had  been  an  active 
member  until  her  accident,  and  where  her  children 
had  attended  Sunday  School.  There  were  only  a  few 
graves  in  the  yard,  not  over  fifty.  They  all  looked  well- 
cared  for.  There  were  flowers  and  shrubbery  and  sev- 
eral large  trees.  Under  one  of  these  trees,  in  a  shady 
nook,  was  their  mother's  grave.  A  large,  handsome 
stone  marked  her  resting  place,  and  upon  the  grave  was 
a  large  bowl  of  apple  blossoms. 

"Father  has  been  here,"  said  Josie,  with  tears  in  her 
eyes,  pointing  to  the  snowy  blossoms.  For  several 
moments  Philip  gazed  sadly  at  the  little  mound  which 
hid  his  mother's  form,  his  face  pale  with  emotion. 

"I  hate  to  leave  her  here,"  he  exclaimed  at  last. 
"I  wish  we  could  take  her  with  us." 

"No,"  answered  Josie,  "that  would  not  be  best,  just 
at  present.  Our  father  cannot  stay  with  us  many  years 
longer,  and  when  he  dies,  we  will  lay  them  side  by  side, 
and  whether  we  bring  her  to  him  or  bring  him  back 
to  this  quiet  little  cemetery,  let  the  future  deter- 
mine." 

"Yes,  that  would  be  best,"  assented  Philip.  "Our 
plans  will  be  more  matured  by  that  time.  Dear  mother, 
how  she  would  have  enjoyed  our  good  fortune,  and 
what  a  sweet,  gracious  mistress  she  would  have  made 
in  our  beautiful  new  home." 

Together  they  passed  from  the  silent  resting  place 
of  the  dead;  each  conscious  that  it  might  be  years  be- 
fore they  looked  upon  their  mother's  grave  again. 

They  made  several  farewell  visits  in  the  village  be- 
fore returning  home.    Everyone  regretted  their  de- 

148 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

parture,  for  they  were  all  warmly  attached  to  the  boy 
and  girl  who  had  grown  up  in  their  midst. 

As  the  days  passed  by  and  the  time  for  their  departure 
drew  near,  Philip's  heart  and  thoughts  were  filled  with 
happy  anticipations  of  soon  being  among  his  eastern 
friends.  He  wondered  if  Dora  had  missed  him,  and 
if  she  was  wishing  for  his  return.  He  longed  to  have 
Josie  see  his  beautiful  Dora, and  he  was  sure  the  two  girls 
would  love  each  other  like  sisters.  He  pictured  to  him- 
self how  Dora  would  welcome  him  in  her  sweet,  gra- 
cious way.  He  should  like  to  take  her  in  his  arms  and 
greet  her  with  a  kiss,  but  no,  he  must  not  shock  her  by 
such  undignified  behavior;  but  he  would  not  allow 
many  days  to  elapse  before  asking  her  to  be  his  own 
dear  wife,  and  they  would  begin  the  new  year  in 
their  new  home.  So  his  happy  heart  ran  riot,  as 
the  passing  hours  drew  him  nearer  to  his  heart's 
desire. 

At  last  the  huge  boxes  were  packed,  the  last  trunk 
strapped,  and  Philip  and  his  little  family  were  whirled 
away  from  their  childhood  home  towards  the  great 
metropolis,  wherein  lay  the  new  home,  new  hopes, 
and  new  ambitions. 

Josie  enjoyed  the  trip  immensely.  It  was  her  first 
long  journey,  and  as  they  passed  through  towns,  cities 
and  beautiful  scenery,  her  eyes  drank  in  the  ever- 
changing  landscape  with  a  young  girl's  delight.  Poor 
old  dad  did  not  enjoy  the  trip  as  well.  He  clung  to 
Philip  like  a  child,  and  would  hardly  consent  to  his 
leaving  him  long  enough  to  procure  a  sandwich  or  cup 
of  coffee  for  their  comfort.    At  every  station,  he  would 


149 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

anxiously  consult  his  ticket  to  see  how  fast  they  were 
advancing  towards  their  destination. 

They  reached  the  city  late  in  the  evening  and  were 
driven  directly  to  their  new  home.  Josie  peered  curi- 
ously from  the  carriage  windows,  but  only  glimpses  of 
lawn,  masses  of  shrubbery  and  stately  trees  could  be 
seen  in  the  darkness.  The  house  was  well  illuminated 
and  presented  a  cheerful  welcome  to  the  weary  travel- 
ers, and  as  they  entered  the  broad  hall,  with  its  great 
fireplace  and  massive  furnishings,  Josie  uttered  a  cry 
of  delight.  She  could  hardly  restrain  herself  sufficiently 
before  the  servants,  so  eager  was  she  to  run  from  room 
to  room  and  examine  the  treasures. 

Dad  was  tired  and  considerably  awed,  and  was  given 
his  supper  and  put  to  bed  like  a  tired  child. 

Mrs.  Croft  was  bewildered  by  so  much  grandeur,  and 
quickly  sought  her  own  room  to  make  a  more  suitable 
toilette,  in  which  to  make  her  appearance  among  the 
well-dressed  servants.  It  was  a  late  hour  before  Josie 
and  Philip  retired,  and  even  then,  Josie  had  to  inspect 
the  beautiful  furniture,  pictures  and  bric-a-brac,  with 
which  her  room  was  decorated.  At  last  when  her  eyes 
refused  to  stay  open  any  longer,  she  was  obliged  to  go  to 
bed  and  wait  for  another  day  in  which  to  explore  and 
admire  her  new  home. 

Philip  would  have  liked  to  call  upon  Dora  if  it  had 
not  been  so  late,  but  it  was  some  happiness  to  realize 
that  he  was  in  the  same  city  with  her,  only  a  few  miles 
away,  and  he  would  see  her  on  the  morrow. 


150 


CHAPTER  XX. 

A  MYSTERIOUS  INVALID. 

Upon  receiving  word  that  Dora  did  not  wish  to  be 
disturbed  until  luncheon,  Mrs.  Hutchinson  felt  no  par- 
ticular alarm;  but  when  the  bell  rang  for  lunch  twice 
and  Dora  did  not  make  her  appearance,  she  went  to 
her  daughter's  room.  She  found  Dora's  maid  hovering 
about  her  mistress's  door. 

"How  is  your  mistress?"  asked  Mrs.  Hutchinson, 
anxiously. 

"I  do  not  know,"  replied  the  girl.  "  I  have 
listened  at  the  door  several  times  but  have  heard  no 
sound." 

Mrs.  Hutchinson  turned  the  knob  softly  and  entered 
the  room.  Passing  through  the  boudoir,  she  entered 
the  darkened  chamber.  "Dora,"  she  said,  approach- 
ing the  bed.  There  was  no  response.  "Raise  the 
curtain,"  commanded  the  frightened  mother  to  the 
maid. 

The  girl  hurriedly  flung  back  the  curtain,  and  Mrs. 
Hutchinson  turned  pale  as  she  bent  over  the  silent 
form  of  her  daughter.  The  sunlight  revealed  a  pale, 
drawn  face,  with  half -closed,  sunken  eyes,  and  feeble, 
fluttering  breath. 

"Dora,  Dora,"  cried  her  mother,  but  there  was  no 
reply.  "Send  John  for  the  doctor  immediately,"  com- 
manded Mrs.  Hutchinson,  and  the  maid  flew  from  the 


*5> 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

room  to  do  her  bidding.  Soon  returning,  they  tried 
to  arouse  the  unconscious  girl.  They  chafed  her  hands 
and  feet  and  put  brandy  between  her  lips.  Before  the 
doctor  arrived  they  had  succeeded  in  making  her  open 
her  eyes,  but  there  was  no  recognition  in  their  azure 
depths,  and  the  only  response  to  her  mother's  heart- 
broken words  were  moans,  and  a  turning  away  of 
her  head  as  though  their  voices  hurt  her. 

When  the  doctor  arrived  and  had  examined  his 
patient,  he  pronounced  her  suffering  from  nervous 
prostration,  produced  he  should  judge  by  some  severe 
shock.  He  questioned  the  mother,  but  she  answered 
that  it  was  impossible,  as  her  daughter  had  retired  the 
night  before  in  good  spirits. 

"No  sign  of  a  burglar?"  he  asked.  "I  have  known 
cases  like  this  to  result  from  being  frightened  by  burg- 
lars." 

"No,"  responded  the  maid,  "I  saw  my  mistress  this 
morning  early.  She  looked  pale,  and  said  she  should 
not  be  down  to  breakfast  and  not  to  disturb  her  until 
luncheon." 

"It  is  very  strange,"  said  the  doctor,  shaking  his 
head.  "Dissipation  could  hardly  produce  such  utter 
prostration." 

It  was  late  in  the  afternoon  before  Dora  became  con- 
scious, and  responded  to  her  mother's  loving  words. 
"Don't  talk  to  me,  mamma,  I  am  so  tired."  But  the 
mother's  heart  was  cheered  by  the  recognition  and  she 
was  able  to  meet  her  husband  with  composure  upon  his 
return  so  that  he  need  not  be  needlessly  frightened  when 
told  of  Dora's  illness. 


152 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

It  was  a  great  surprise  to  all  of  Dora's  friends  when 
they  learned  she  was  seriously  ill,  as  she  had  apparently 
been  in  the  best  of  health  when  last  seen. 

Three  weeks  passed  before  Dora  was  able  to  sit  up 
again,  the  ghost  of  her  former  self,  so  pale  and  thin  as 
to  shock  the  few  intimate  friends  who  were  allowed  to 
see  her.  As  soon  as  she  could  walk  across  the  room, 
she  paid  a  visit  to  Aunt  Helen.  She  tried  to  disguise 
the  ravages  her  sickness  had  made,  by  wearing  a  pretty, 
negligee  gown  of  becoming  color,  and  her  hair  prettily 
arranged.  But  when  she  entered  the  invalid's  room, 
she  knew  her  appearance  must  have  been  a  great 
shock  to  her  aunt,  who  received  her  with  open  arms, 
and,  bursting  into  tears,  exclaimed:  "Oh,  my  darling, 
what  has  worked  this  terrible  change?" 

Dora  was  the  calmer  of  the  two,  and  waited  until 
her  aunt  could  recover  herself  from  the  shock  of  her 
niece's  changed  appearance. 

"  Aunt  Helen,"  said  Dora,  after  they  had  conversed 
awhile,  "  I  want  you  to  do  me  a  great  favor.  Will 
you  ?  " 

"  Of  course,  I  will,  if  it  is  within  my  power,"  replied 
her  aunt. 

"I  want  you  to  speak  favorably  of  my  going  to  Europe 
next  week,  when  mamma  comes  to  consult  you  about 
it." 

"Going  to  Europe  next  week,"  cried  Aunt  Helen,  in 
amazement.  "Why,  child,  you  are  crazy.  You  could  not 
endure  the  trip  after  such  a  sickness  as  you  have  had." 

"Yes,  I  could,  Aunt  Helen.  I  shall  gain  strength 
rapidly  now  that  I  am  on  my  feet  again,  and  my  heart 

153 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

is  set  upon  going.  I  shall  have  a  relapse  if  you  do  not 
further  my  plans,"  and  she  smiled  in  her  old,  arch  way. 

"  But,  Dora,  you  astonish  me  so.  Whom  would  you 
go  with  ?  I  do  not  see  how  your  father  or  mother  could 
go  just  at  present." 

"I  shall  not  expect  papa  or  mamma  to  go.  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Morris  and  their  daughter,  Bessie,  are  going  next 
week.  Bessie  called  yesterday,  and  told  me  of  their 
intended  trip.  She  spoke  of  our  last  trip  together  and 
expressed  a  wish  that  I  were  going  with  them  this  time. 
After  she  had  gone,  I  sat  thinking  what  a  delightful 
time  we  had  before,  and  wishing  I  might  go  this  time. 
I  spoke  to  papa  and  mamma  about  it,  but  of  course 
they  were  horrified  at  first  at  the  idea,  but  I  teased  so 
hard  they  did  not  say  I  could  not  go.  I  mean  to  get 
the  doctor  on  my  side.  What  he  advises  will  have  great 
weight  with  them,  and  I  want  you  to  be  my  ally  also. 
It  will  be  eight  days  before  we  start,  and  I  shall  be  quite 
strong  by  that  time." 

"What  makes  you  anxious  to  go  just  now?"  asked 
her  aunt.  "Why  don't  you  wait  until  you  have  fully 
recovered.  There  are  always  plenty  going  abroad 
among  your  acquaintances,  —  why  such  unnecessary 
haste  ?  Besides,  what  will  Mr.  Manning  think  to  find 
you  gone  upon  his  return,  which  will  be  soon  now?" 

"Mr.  Manning  has  no  right  to  expect  me  to  sit  in 
the  chimney  corner  awaiting  his  return,"  said  Dora, 
with  rising  color  in  her  pale  cheeks. 

"  Of  course  not,  my  dear  child,  but  you  know  he  will 
be  dreadfully  disappointed  not  to  be  able  to  introduce 
his  father  and  sister  to  vou." 


iS4 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

"I  am  not  strong  enough  to  meet  strangers  at  pres- 
ent," replied  Dora.  "I  would  rather  go  away  for  a 
while.    I  shall  meet  them  in  the  winter." 

Aunt  Helen  looked  perplexed  and  shook  her  head. 
"I  don't  understand  the  necessity  of  being  in  such  a 
hurry;  but  if  your  heart  is  so  set  upon  going,  I  suppose 
we  shall  have  to  let  you  go.  You  have  always  had  your 
own  way  ever  since  you  were  born,  and  always  will,  I 
expect." 

"Now,  Aunt  Helen,  don't  talk  as  though  I  was  a 
spoiled,  wilful  child,"  said  Dora,  somewhat  fretfully. 
"I  don't  see  anything  strange  in  my  wanting  to  go 
abroad  with  such  delightful  people  as  the  Morrises. 
I  am  tired  and  sick  of  the  city  and  I  long  to  be  out  of  it." 

"Well,  I  will  help  you  all  I  can,  even  if  I  do  not  quite 
approve,  if  you  will  only  return  to  us  with  the  roses  in 
those  pale  cheeks  again." 

"Aunt  Helen,  you  are  a  darling,"  exclaimed  Dora, 
gratefully.  "I  believe  I  will  go  and  lie  down  awhile, 
I  feel  tired,  and  I  want  to  gain  strength  rapidly  for  my 
intended  trip,"  and  kissing  her  aunt  affectionately,  she 
left  the  room. 

That  evening  the  proposed  trip  was  talked  over  be- 
tween the  parents.  "I  don't  know  what  to  make  of 
that  girl  of  mine,"  said  Mr.  Hutchinson,  solemnly 
shaking  his  head.  "  Sometimes  I  think  she  is  in  a  hurry 
to  get  away  from  here  before  Manning's  return;  but 
what  she  should  want  to  run  away  from  him  for  I  do 
not  understand,  unless  it  is  a  streak  of  vanity.  Perhaps 
she  dislikes  to  have  him  see  her  looking  so  poorly 
after  her  sickness.    What  do  you  think,  wife  ?" 


155 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

"I  don't  think  Dora  would  be  as  foolish  as  that; 
she  is  not  so  vain  of  her  good  looks.  She  has  some 
other  reason,  and  it  is  such  a  strong  one,  we  had  better 
let  her  go." 

"  Of  course  we  shall  let  her  go;  when  did  we  ever  re- 
fuse her  anything?  If  she  wanted  to  go  to  the  north 
pole,  we  should  have  to  let  her  go." 

"Well,  there  is  one  satisfaction  about  it,  she  will  be 
with  those  we  can  trust  to  take  as  good  care  of  her  as 
we  would  ourselves." 

So  it  was  decided  that  Dora  was  to  go  to  Europe. 

"What  a  lucky  girl  you  are,"  exclaimed  Jennie 
Dunlap,  enviously.  "You  have  only  to  express  a  wish 
and  your  parents  move  heaven  and  earth  to  grant  it. 
Now  I  have  been  wanting  to  go  to  Europe  all  my  life, 
and  my  parents  turn  a  deaf  ear  to  all  my  entreaties." 

"Never  mind,"  replied  Dora,  smiling  at  Jennie's 
disconsolate  tone.  "When  you  are  Mrs.  Adolphus 
Carlton,  you  can  go  every  year." 

"That  is  one  of  his  chief  attractions  in  my  eyes. 
Europe  and  diamonds  would  buy  my  heart  any  day. 
No  love  in  a  cottage  for  me  —  tra  la  la,  tra  la  la,"  and 
she  gaily  waltzed  about  the  room. 

"What  will  Manning  say?"  was  Wallace's  first  ex- 
clamation upon  hearing  the  news.  "I  know  he  will 
be  awfully  cut  up  about  it." 

"Dora  Hutchinson  will  go  through  the  woods  and 
pick  up  a  crooked  stick  at  last,  is  my  opinion,"  said 
Edith,  prophetically.  "See  the  offers  she  has  had 
and  refused.  See  how  she  has  played  fast  and  loose 
with  Harold  Graham  all  her  life,  and  now,  after  she 


156 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

has  made  us  all  believe  that  her  heart  is  captured  at 
last  by  Philip  Manning,  as  soon  as  he  leaves  her  side, 
she  apparently  forgets  his  existence,  coolly  packs  her 
trunks  and  starts  for  Europe  on  the  very  eve  of  his 
return.  I  think  it  is  downright  shabby  of  her.  I  hope 
he  will  marry  someone  else  before  she  returns." 

"  Perhaps  you  would  like  to  be  that  somebody  else," 
drawls  Jennie,  teasingly.  "You  may  catch  his  heart 
in  the  rebound." 

"Stranger  things  than  that  have  happened,"  re- 
torted her  sister,  unruffled. 

On  the  day  of  Dora's  departure,  they  all  went  down 
to  the  steamer  to  see  her  off.  Good-byes  were  spoken, 
handkerchiefs  waved,  as  the  great  steamer  slowly  with- 
drew from  the  dock  and  turned  seaward.  Dora  re- 
mained on  deck  as  long  as  she  could  see  her  friends, 
a  smile  on  her  lips  so  long  as  they  could  discern  her 
face;  but  when  distance  hid  them,  she  turned  a  pale, 
wan  face  toward  the  cabin  and  was  seen  no  more  that 
day. 


*S7 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

DORA  GONE? 

"Philip,  I  have  been  exploring  the  garden,  and  I 
found  a  lovely  bed  of  big,  English  violets.  See,  I  have 
brought  you  a  bunch.  I  remember  they  are  your  fav- 
orite flower.  Let  me  pin  some  in  your  coat,"  and  Josie 
advanced  toward  her  brother  to  carry  out  her  intention, 
but  he  waved  her  back,  his  face  pale  and  agitated. 

"No,"  he  cried,  "I  don't  like  their  perfume,  it  makes 
me  sick,"  and  he  put  his  hand  to  his  head  as  though 
dizzy  from  their  odor. 

Josie  stared  at  her  brother  in  speechless  amazement 
while  he  was  speaking.  At  last,  finding  her  voice, 
she  exclaimed,  indignantly,  "Why,  Philip  Manning, 
what  do  you  mean  ?  Violets  were  always  your  favorite 
flower.  You  and  I  have  picked  great  bunches  of  them, 
and  now  you  say  their  perfume  makes  you  sick,  when 
theirs  is  the  most  delicate  perfume  in  the  world.  What 
has  come  over  you?"  and  Josie  gazed  keenly  at  her 
brother. 

"I  know  I  used  to  like  them,"  he  replied,  apologet- 
ically, "but  one's  taste  changes,  you  know,"  and  he 
laughed  nervously. 

"  Oh,  well,  you  are  not  obliged  to  have  them.  I  will 
take  them  out  of  your  sight  if  they  have  grown  so  ob- 
jectionable to  you,"  and  with  a  decided  pout  on  her 
pretty  lips,  Jessie  left  the  room.    She  soon  returned, 

iS8 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

however,  smiling  and  happy  as  ever.  Philip  was  stand- 
ing at  the  window  gazing  out  with  dreamy  eyes.  Josie 
stole  softly  to  his  side,  and,  slipping  her  hand  through 
his  arm,  looked  out  upon  the  beautiful  landscape. 
Suddenly  their  attention  was  attracted  by  the  appear- 
ance of  a  solitary  horseman,  winding  his  way  along  the 
carriage  road.  As  he  drew  nearer,  Philip  recognized 
Wallace  Dunlap.  His  face  brightened  at  once;  a  smile 
broke  over  his  lips,  as  he  turned  to  Josie  and  said, 
"Behold  the  conquering  hero  comes.  Keep  a  good 
grip  on  your  heart,  Josie.  Wallace  is  a  great  lady- 
killer.  All  the  girls  are  in  love  with  his  blue  eyes  and 
curly  locks." 

"I  hope  I  am  not  so  impressionable  as  to  fall  in  love 
with  just  a  handsome  face.  'Beauty  is  as  beauty  does' 
is  my  motto." 

"Well  this  beauty  does  about  right,"  said  Philip, 
heartily.  "I  think  as  much  of  Wallace  as  I  would  of 
a  younger  brother.    Here  he  comes." 

The  two  men  shook  hands  heartily,  then  Philip 
turned  to  his  sister.  "  Wallace,  this  is  my  sister,  Josie," 
he  said,  simply.  "You  have  both  heard  so  much  of  each 
other,  you  ought  to  feel  almost  acquainted." 

Walhce  looked  at  the  graceful,  slender,  brown-eyed 
maiden,  and  thought  her  the  sweetest  girl  he  had  met, 
while  she,  gazing  into  the  merry,  blue  eyes  of  the  hand- 
some young  man  before  her,  found  her  heart  beating 
in  a  very  troublesome  manner.  She  shyly  withdrew 
the  hand  he  grasped  so  cordially,  while  the  crimson 
blood  dyed  her  olive  cheek,  and  the  long,  silken  lashes 
veiled  the  sweet,  brown  eyes. 


*59 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

"Your  sister  is  the  perfect  image  of  you,  Philip," 
Wallace  exclaimed.  "I  should  have  known  her,  if  I 
had  met  her  anywhere." 

"Is  that  a  compliment  to  you,  or  to  me,  Josie?" 
asked  Philip,  laughing.  "  Yes,  we  resemble  each  other. 
We  only  lack  seven  years  of  being  twins,"  and  they  all 
laughed. 

Manning  inquired  how  Wallace's  parents  and  sisters 
were,  he  also  spoke  of  several  other  friends  and  ac- 
quaintances, hoping  to  hear  some  word  of  Dora  —  too 
shy  to  inquire  outright,  but  no  mention  was  made  of 
the  Hutchinsons,  to  Philip's  disappointment. 

When  about  to  depart,  Wallace  asked  Manning  to 
accompany  him.  "My  mother  and  sister  will  take 
pleasure  in  calling  upon  you  in  a  few  days,"  he  said  to 
Josie,  and  the  two  men  left  the  house  together,  followed 
by  Josie's  admiring  eyes,  as  long  as  she  could  see  them. 

"Philip  is  the  handsomer,"  she  murmured,  with 
pride,  "but  Mr.  Dunlap  is  nice  looking  also.  I  am 
sure  I  shall  like  him.  I  must  follow  Philip's  advice 
and  keep  a  grip  on  my  heart,"  and  she  laughed  softly 
to  herself. 

"Manning,"  said  Wallace,  after  they  had  left  the 
grounds  and  passed  out  into  the  highway,  "I  have 
some  news  to  tell  you  that  I  thought  you  would  rather 
hear  from  my  lips  than  from  others.  I  know  you  will 
be  very  much  surprised,  and  it  is  not  pleasant  to  have 
a  surprise  sprung  on  one  in  a  crowd.  It  is  sometimes 
embarrassing." 

Manning  turned  pale  as  he  involuntarily  brought  his 
horse  to  a  standstill,  while  he  gazed  at  his  friend  in 


160 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

speechless  agony.  His  heart  intuitively  told  him  that 
the  news  must  be  of  Dora.  Was  she  dead?  Was 
she  married?     Either  would  be  equally  bad. 

"Don't  look  like  that,  old  chap,  you  are  imagining 
the  worst.     She  is  not  dead,  only  gone  to  Europe." 

Manning  gave  a  great  sigh  of  relief,  and  looked  re- 
proachfully at  his  friend.  "You  spoke  so  seriously," 
he  said.  "I  thought  something  terrible  had  happened. 
I  am  sorry  to  hear  of  her  departure.  I  had  anticipated 
introducing  my  sister  to  her.  How  long  will  she  be 
gone?  Was  it  not  sudden?  I  do  not  remember  to 
have  heard  her  say  anything  of  such  a  trip,"  and  he 
looked  inquiringly  at  Wallace. 

"Thereby  hangs  a  tale,"  answered  Wallace,  impres- 
sively. "The  next  day  after  your  departure  for  the 
West,  Miss  Dora  Hutchinson  was  stricken  with  a  se- 
vere illness,  called  by  her  physician  'nervous  prostra- 
tion*. For  two  weeks  she  was  very  ill.  The  third 
week  she  arose,  a  thin,  shadowy  ghost  of  her  former 
self.  I  never  saw  such  a  change  in  anyone  in  so  short 
a  time;  and  when  the  Morrises  told  her  of  their  intended 
trip  abroad,  nothing  would  do  but  she  must  go  too,  so 
she  gained  the  consent  of  old  pill-bags,  who  ought  to 
have  known  better,  and  of  her  parents  who  never  deny 
her  anything,  reasonable  or  unreasonable.  So  the  day 
before  your  return,  she  and  the  Morrises  embarked  for 
Europe.  That  is  the  story  in  a  nut  shell,  perhaps  you 
can  crack  it,  I  cannot,"  and  he  began  to  whistle  a  merry 
tune. 

Manning  had  listened  attentively,  filled  with  sur- 
prise and  anxiety,  to  this  strange  narration  of  Dora's 

161 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

hurried  flight  upon  the  eve  of  his  return.  He  could  not 
understand  it.  Perhaps  she  had  left  a  letter  or  some 
explanation  for  him.  He  was  anxious  to  call  at  the 
house  and  gain  some  clue  to  her  strange  departure,  to 
relieve  his  suspense  and  disappointment. 

He  was  persuaded  to  go  home  with  Wallace.  They 
received  him  with  sincere  expressions  of  pleasure  at  his 
return.  They  told  him  of  all  the  gay  doings  since  he 
had  been  gone,  but,  by  common  consent,  they  refrained 
from  mentioning  Dora's  name,  for  which  he  was  very 
grateful,  as  he  felt  too  perplexed  and  keenly  disap- 
pointed at  her  absence,  to  wish  to  converse  about  her. 
He  did  not  stay  long,  and  after  leaving  the  house,  he 
went  to  his  hotel.  There  were  a  few  articles  still  there, 
that  had  to  be  packed  and  sent  to  his  home. 

As  he  enters  the  corridor,  he  gazes  apprehensively 
down  its  length.  Does  he  fear  to  see  a  slender,  golden- 
haired  girl,  with  a  basket  of  flowers  upon  her  arm  ? 
He  shudders  and  hurries  to  his  room.  Emerging  a 
half-hour  later,  he  gives  the  keys  to  the  porter,  with 
directions  to  have  his  luggage  sent  to  his  residence. 

That  evening,  as  Josie  met  her  brother  upon  his  re- 
turn from  the  city,  she  noticed  with  anxiety  his  pale 
face  and  sad  eyes.  To  her  sisterly  solicitations  he  re- 
plied, that  he  had  a  severe  headache,  and  if  she  did  not 
mind  he  would  go  to  his  room  and  rest  a  while  before 
dinner. 

She  watched  him  as  he  ascended  the  stairs.  "I 
don't  believe  it  is  all  headache,"  she  thought.  "He 
is  not  subject  to  them.  It  is  more  like  heartache,  and 
the  perfume  of  violets  has  something  to  do  with  it. 


162 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

There  is  some  unpleasant  memory  connected  with  them, 
and  he  cannot  shake  it  off." 

"Where  is  Philip?"  asked  the  old  father,  coming 
slowly  down  the  long  hall.  "I  thought  I  heard  his 
voice.  I  want  to  show  him  a  beautiful  butterfly  I 
found  out  in  the  garden.  I  really  believe  it  will  meas- 
ure four  inches  from  wing  to  wing." 

"Come  and  show  it  to  me,"  said  Josie,  taking  her 
father's  arm  in  a  pretty,  coaxing  way.  Satisfied  to 
find  some  one  to  show  his  prize  to,  he  eagerly  led  the 
way  and  they  left  the  hall  together. 

In  the  meantime,  Philip  Manning,  in  his  room,  was 
battling  with  conflicting  emotions.  All  his  plans  and 
happy  anticipations  were  set  at  naught  by  this  strange 
story  he  had  just  heard.  Why  did  Dora  not  wait  until 
after  his  return  ?  She  must  have  known  what  a  terrible 
disappointment  it  would  be  to  him  to  find  her  gone; 
but  it  looked  as  though  her  interest  in  him  had  not  been 
sufficient  to  keep  her  at  home  to  receive  him.  She  must 
have  known  of  his  love  and  that  he  would  ask  her  to 
be  his  wife  upon  his  return.  Perhaps  she  did  not  love 
him,  but  had  only  been  amusing  herself  with  him,  as 
a  specimen  from  the  wild  West,  a  little  different  from 
the  other  men  she  had  met;  and  she  thought  now  was 
a  good  time  to  shake  him  off.  Then  again  he  told  him- 
self that  it  was  not  possible  she  could  be  such  a  girl. 
She  was  so  sincere  and  unaffected,  so  affectionate  and 
loving  in  her  family,  so  tender  and  solicitous  of  her 
invalid  aunt,  and  so  gracious  toward  himself,  always 
showing  her  pleasure  in  his  society.  He  would  not 
wrong  her  by  unkind  thoughts.    He  would  wait  for 

163 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

an  explanation  from  her  or  her  parents.  So  he  tried 
to  cheer  himself  into  the  belief  that  he  had  no  occasion 
to  make  himself  miserable  at  present. 

He  joined  his  father  and  sister  at  dinner.  After 
dinner  they  sang  the  hymns  their  father  loved  before 
he  retired,  as  he  rarely  sat  up  after  ten.  When  they 
were  alone,  Philip  said:  "I  wish  you  would  invite  some 
of  your  girl  friends  to  come  and  stay  with  you  a  while, 
Josie,  for  I  am  afraid  you  will  be  lonesome  in  this  big 
house,  and  it  will  be  quite  a  while  before  our  city  friends 
return  from  their  summer  outings.' ' 

"Now,  Philip,  don't  you  worry  about  me,"  answered 
Josie.  "I  only  had  father  in  our  western  home  after 
you  came  East,  and  now  I  have  you,  too,  I  am  perfectly 
contented.  This  is  such  a  lovely  place,  with  its  beauti- 
ful, large  grounds.  I  suppose  I  am  selfish  to  wish  to 
enjoy  it  all  by  myself.  Perhaps  I  may  invite  some  of 
my  school  friends  before  the  summer  is  over.  I  know 
they  would  be  delighted  to  come." 

"You  remember,  Josie,  I  spoke  to  you  of  Miss  Hutch- 
inson, a  lady  friend  of  mine?"  said  Philip,  in  a  con- 
strained tone. 

"Well,  I  guess  I  do,"  replied  Josie,  laughing  at  her 
brother's  evident  embarrassment.  "You  not  only 
spoke  of  her,  you  sang  her  praises  for  hours,  and  I, 
like  a  good,  little  sister,  listened  patiently,  and  never 
once  called  a  halt.  I  am  so  anxious  to  meet  her.  I 
suppose  you  have  called  already.  Was  she  glad  to  see 
you?    Tell  me  all  about  it." 

"How  you  do  run  on,  Josie.  I  was  going  to  tell  you 
that  she  had  gone  to  Europe." 

164 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

Josie's  big  brown  eyes  opened  wide  in  amazement 
and  her  red  lips  puckered  at  though  about  to  whistle, 
"Gone  to  Europe !    What  has  she  gone  to  Europe  for  ?" 

"  What  does  anyone  go  to  Europe  for  ?"  replied  Philip, 
somewhat  impatiently.  "  Why,  for  recreation  and  pleas- 
ure. Besides,  she  has  been  very  sick,  and  no  doubt 
thought  the  trip  would  be  beneficial." 

"But  what  did  she  go  just  now  for?  Why  didn't 
she  wait  and  make  a  wedding  trip  of  it?"  and  Josie 
smiled  roguishly  at  her  brother,  who  flushed,  but  made 
no  answer. 

"Now,  I  shall  not  see  her,"  continued  Josie,  in  a  dis- 
appointed tone.    "How  long  will  she  be  gone?" 

"I  do  not  know,"  replied  Philip.  "I  have  not  called 
at  the  house  yet.  Wallace  Dunlap  told  me  of  her  de- 
parture." 

"Were  you  not  terribly  surprised,  Philip?  No  need 
to  ask  that,  —  of  course  you  were,  and  disappointed 
too;  and  if  she  hasn't  left  a  nice,  little  note  of  explana- 
tion for  you,  I  shall  have  my  opinion  of  her,"  and  Josie 
pressed  her  pretty  lips  together  in  evident  displeasure 
with  Miss  Dora  Hutchinson. 


165 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

PHILIP'S   SISTER. 

The  next  morning,  Philip  could  hardly  wait  for  nine 
o'clock  before  riding  to  the  city  to  call  at  Mr.  Hutchin- 
son's office.  He  would  have  preferred  to  call  on  Mrs. 
Hutchinson,  but,  as  this  would  necessitate  a  later  hour, 
he  felt  he  had  not  the  patience  to  wait ;  so,  at  nine,  he 
mounted  his  horse  and  rode  to  the  city. 

Mr.  Hutchinson  met  him  with  a  cordial  shake  of  the 
hand.  "  Glad  to  see  you  back,  Manning,"  he  said,  heart- 
ily.    "  Been  up  to  the  house  yet  ?" 

"No,"  replied  Manning;  "I  thought  I  would  call  and 
see  you  first.     The  ladies  are  well,  I  trust?" 

"Why,  yes,  —  Mrs.  Hutchinson  is  well,"  replied  the 
old  man,  with  some  embarrassment.  "You  know  Dora 
has  gone  to  Europe."  He  picked  up  an  envelope  and 
scrutinized  the  address  very  attentively. 

"Yes,  I  heard  she  had,"  was  the  calm  reply  of  the 
young  man. 

Mr.  Hutchinson  glanced  at  Philip,  a  look  of  relief 
on  his  face.  He  had  been  afraid  he  might  be  the  first 
one  to  impart  the  news,  and  he  was  not  certain  how  he 
would  take  it.  "  She  has  been  very  sick,  you  know,  and 
she  thought  the  voyage  might  do  her  good."  He  spoke 
almost  apologetically. 

"I  hope  it  may,"  said  Philip,  mechanically.  Then 
there  was  a  silence  for  a  time,  while  the  clock  ticked  with 
wonderful  distinctness. 

166 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

"It  must  have  been  a  surprise  to  you?"  interrogated 
Mr.  Hutchinson,  not  knowing  what  else  to  say. 

"Yes,  I  was  surprised,"  said  Philip,  turning  impul- 
sively to  Dora's  father.  "I  loved  her.  You  must  have 
seen  it,  I  hoped  to  gain  your  consent  to  ask  her  to  be 
my  wife  upon  my  return.  You  can  understand  my 
feelings  to  find  her  gone." 

Mr.  Hutchinson  arose  to  his  feet  and  extended  his 
hand.  "I  can  understand  and  sympathize  with  you. 
Nothing  would  give  me  greater  pleasure  than  to  receive 
you  as  my  son-in-law." 

Philip's  face  lit  up  with  happiness,  as  he  grasped  the 
old  man's  hand.  "Do  you  think  there  is  any  hope  for 
tne  ?"  he  asked,  anxiously. 

"Why,  yes,  plenty  of  hope.    I  am  sure  she  likes  you." 

"I  have  no  doubt  she  likes  me;  but  does  she  love  me? 
that  is  the  question." 

"That  you  will  have  to  find  out  for  yourself,"  laughed 
Mr.  Hutchinson. 

"I  am  sure  if  she  loved  me  as  well  as  I  do  her  she 
could  never  have  run  away  to  Europe  without  leaving 
a  farewell  message." 

"Oh,  well,  girls  are  strange  creatures.  Perhaps  she 
thought  you  a  tardy  lover  and  went  away  to  give  you  a 
lesson.  Go  up  to  the  house  and  talk  with  her  mother. 
She  understands  feminine  whims  better  than  we 
do.  She  can  no  doubt  explain  it  all  to  your  satis- 
faction." 

"You  have  made  me  very  happy  by  giving  me  your 
consent  to  win  your  lovely  daughter's  hand,"  said 
Philip,  rising.    "I  will  act  upon  your  suggestion  and 

167 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

call  upon  Mrs.  Hutchinson ;  mothers  always  know  their 
daughters'  hearts."  (Mistaken  man.) 

Again  mounting  his  horse,  he  rode  to  the  Hutchin- 
sons'  residence,  and  was  received  with  evident  pleasure 
by  Dora's  mother. 

"It  seems  more  like  five  months  than  five  weeks 
since  you  left  us,"  she  said  to  Philip.  "So  much  has 
transpired.  Dora's  long  sickness;  then  the  prepara- 
tions for  the  trip  and  her  departure.  You  must  have 
been  surprised,"  and  she  looked  at  him  quizzically. 

"Yes,  is  was  a  very  unpleasant  surprise,"  he  replied. 
"I  had  looked  forward  to  meeting  her  again  and  intro 
ducing  my  sister.     I   have  told  my  sister  of    your 
daughter's  kindness  to  the  western  stranger,  and  she  was 
anticipating  a  great  deal  of  pleasure  in  meeting  her." 

"I  must  make  up  for  my  daughter's  delinquency," 
responded  Mrs.  Hutchinson,  smiling.  "I  am  quite 
anxious  to  meet  your  father  and  sister.  How  do  they 
like  their  new  home?" 

"  Oh,  father  is  contented  anywhere  Josie  and  I  are. 
He  takes  great  delight  in  the  gardens  and  the  strip  of 
woods  beyond.  Josie  is  also  pleased.  I  have  offered 
to  take  her  away  for  the  summer,  but  she  does  not  care 
to  go.  If  she  does  not  go  away,  I  shall  persuade  her 
to  invite  some  of  her  friends  to  visit  her." 

"  I  doubt  if  she  could  find  a  pleasanter  place  to  spend 
the  summer,  than  her  new,  beautiful  home,"  said  Mrs. 
Hutchinson;  "for,  although  so  short  a  distance  from 
the  city,  it  has  all  the  environments  of  the  country,  and 
is  far  cooler  than  many  of  the  fashionable  summer  re- 
sorts.    I  think  she  is  a  sensible  girl." 

168 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

The  conversation  drifted  from  one  subject  to  another, 
and  nothing  further  was  said  on  the  subject  nearest  his 
heart.  He  longed  to  talk  about  Dora  to  Dora's  mother, 
but  he  could  not  broach  the  subject  without  an 
embarrassing  abruptness,  and  this  he  was  unequal 
to. 

"May  I  see  Aunt  Helen?"  he  asked,  thinking  pos- 
sibly Dora's  aunt  might  be  more  communicative  than 
Dora's  mother. 

"Certainly,"  replied  Mrs.  Hutchinson.  "She  will 
be  delighted  to  see  you.  I  will  inquire  if  she  can  see 
you  now."  She  rang  the  bell  and  directed  John  to  send 
the  nurse  to  her. 

When  the  nurse  appeared  she  gave  the  information 
that  Aunt  Helen  was  prepared  for  visitors.  Philip 
followed  the  nurse  upstairs  into  the  invalid's  room. 
There  was  no  mistaking  the  glad  welcome  with  which 
she  greeted  him.  She  had  grown  to  look  upon  Philip 
as  a  possible  nephew,  and  already  loved  him  as  such. 
They  both  loved  Dora,  each  heart  was  full  of  her,  and 
soon  they  were  talking  of  her  in  great  confidence. 
Both  felt  free  to  ask  and  answer  questions  on  this 
mutual  subject  so  dear  to  each  heart. 

Without  the  least  restraint,  Philip  poured  into  her 
sympathetic  ear  all  his  disappointed  hopes  and  fore- 
bodings. 

"Are  you  sure  there  was  no  misunderstanding  be- 
tween you?  Did  you  part  good  friends ?"  questioned 
Aunt  Helen. 

"Why,  yes,  I  am  sure  we  did.  I  remember  she  was 
not  feeling  well,  but  she  was  as  sweet  and  gracious  as 

169 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

ever.     Yes,  we  parted  the  best  of  friends,  and  I  am  sure 
she  understood  my  feelings  towards  her." 

"Well,  my  dear  boy,  there  is  no  accounting  for  the 
whims  of  an  invalid.  She  was  very  sick  and  had  not 
recovered  sufficiently  to  know  or  care  for  anyone  at  the 
time  she  left  home.  We  shall  get  a  letter  in  a  few  days, 
and  no  doubt  she  will  send  you  a  message.  Then  you 
can  write  to  her  and  all  will  be  made  clear  and  satis- 
factory. I  should  be  terribly  grieved  if  any  trouble 
came  between  you,  for  I  just  think  you  and  Dora  were 
made  for  each  other." 

Philip  took  his  departure  and  reached  home  just 
in  time  for  lunch.  Josie  searched  her  brother's  face 
anxiously  to  ascertain  if  possible  the  result  of  the  visit 
to  the  Hutchinsons.  Philip  noticed  her  anxious  gaze 
and,  putting  his  arm  about  her,  drew  her  fondly  to  his 
side  and  kissed  her. 

"I  can  see  a  host  of  unspoken  questions  in  those 
eyes,"  he  said,  gaily.  Then  he  told  her  of  his 
visit  to  Mr.  Hutchinson's  office,  of  his  cordial  reception 
and  the  hearty  sanction  given  to  his  suit,  and  of  his  in- 
terview with  Dora's  mother  and  Aunt  Helen.  "I  must 
take  you  to  see  Aunt  Helen  soon.  You  will  love  her; 
all  young  people  do." 

That  afternoon  Wallace  Dunlap  and  his  sisters  called. 
Josie  felt  somewhat  shy  of  the  stylishly  dressed  young 
city  ladies.  They  were  not  at  all  like  the  girls  she  had 
been  used  to.  But  if  shy  and  quiet,  she  was  not  awk- 
ward, and  received  them  in  a  sweet,  pretty  way,  and 
tried  hard  to  follow  their  conversation  that  was  mostly 
like  Greek  to  her.    She  blushingly  admitted  that  she 


170 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

knew  nothing  about  lawn  tennis  or  golf.  When  asked 
to  play,  she  looked  appealingly  at  her  brother,  who 
came  to  her  rescue. 

"  Josie  does  not  play  the  popular  music/ '  he  explained. 
"Her  music  is  sacred  and  played  upon  the  organ.  Our 
father  is  very  fond  of  his  evening  hymn.  Josie  has  a 
good  voice  and  I  mean  to  procure  a  good  teacher  for 
her." 

Edith  and  Jennie  were  both  brilliant  pianists  and 
quite  electrified  Josie  by  their  performances.  Her 
pleasure  and  admiration  was  so  evident  and  sincere, 
that  they  felt  quite  flattered,  and  voted  her  quite  a  nice, 
little  girl  after  all. 

After  their  departure,  Josie  gave  a  sigh  of  relief. 
"  Oh,  Philip,  I  shall  never  be  like  them.  They  are  so 
different  in  every  way  from  me.  I  felt  like  a  little  brown 
grub  among  gorgeous  butterflies." 

"Well,  they  are  a  fair  specimen  of  society  girls. 
When  you  become  more  familiar  with  their  ways  you 
will  like  them  better.  They  impressed  me  much  the 
same  way  at  first.  They  did  not  like  my  ways,  and  I 
did  not  admire  theirs,  but  we  are  pretty  good  friends 
now,  and  I  am  especially  fond  of  Wallace." 

"Oh,  he  is  different,"  exclaimed  Josie,  eagerly. 
"He  is  quite  natural  and  like  other  folks.  I  don't  feel 
a  bit  afraid  of  him.  Are  all  the  young  men  nice  like 
him?  If  they  are,  I  shall  like  the  men  the  best,"  and 
she  laughed  roguishly. 

"There  are  some  specimens  among  the  men  that  will 
be  a  surprise  to  you.  Wait  until  you  see  Adolphus 
Carlton,"  said  Philip,  laughingly. 


171 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

"Well,  how  did  you  like  Philip's  sister?" asked  Wal- 
lace of  his  sisters  after  they  had  entered  the  carriage 
and  driven  away. 

"I  think  she  is  a  stupid,  little  brown  thing,  without 
a  particle  of  style,  and  no  accomplishments.  She  has 
country  written  all  over  her.  That  is  my  opinion/' 
said  Jennie,  tossing  her  head  disdainfully. 

"Well,"  said  Edith,  "I  think  that  time  and  oppor- 
tunity will  greatly  improve  her.  She  is  very  pretty  and 
graceful.  Her  eyes  are  lovely.  If  her  hair  was  ar- 
ranged more  becomingly,  and  she  was  not  quite  so  shy, 
she  would  make  quite  an  impression.  What  do  you 
think,  Wallace?" 

"I  think  she  is  the  sweetest  girl  I  ever  met,"  replied 
Wallace,  enthusiastically.  "She  puts  me  in  mind^of  a 
sweet,  brier  rose." 

"Oh,  you  might  know  Wallace  would  be  captivated 
at  once.  He  feels  it  his  bounden  duty  to  yield  up  his 
heart  to  every  pretty  new  face  that  comes  along,"  said 
Jennie,  mockingly.  "You  two  can  cultivate  her  if  you 
want  to,  but  please  excuse  me.  I  know  she  is  as  sanc- 
timonious as  her  brother.  She  only  sings  hymns, 
bah  I" 


172 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 


As  the  days  passed  by,  Manning  grew  feverishly  anx- 
ious for  news  from  Dora.  He  called  every  day  at  the 
office. 

"I  don't  see  why  Dora  doesn't  write,"  Mr.  Hutchin- 
son would  exclaim  with  frowning  brows.  "They  have 
arrived  in  safety,  for  we  have  received  a  telegram  to  that 
effect.  Well,  perhaps  it  will  come  tomorrow.  We 
must  have  patience.  She  is  probably  tired  after  her 
voyage  and  is  resting  up  a  bit." 

At  last  the  long-looked-for  letter  arrived  and  was 
eagerly  read  by  the  parents.  It  was  long,  and  gave 
an  interesting  description  of  their  voyage  and  the  people 
they  had  met.  She  wrote  that  she  was  feeling  much 
better,  and  getting  some  color  in  her  cheeks.  She 
sent  messages  to  different  friends,  but  in  all  the  letter 
there  was  no  mention  of  Philip  —  no  inquiry  as  to  his 
return.  When  they  had  finished  reading  it,  the  parents 
gazed  into  each  other's  faces  in  dismay. 

"What  does  it  mean?"  "How  shall  we  tell  him?" 
burst  simultaneously  from  their  lips. 

The  letter  was  taken  to  Aunt  Helen's  room  and  read. 
"It  looks  as  though  she  were  bent  on  ignoring  him," 
said  Aunt  Helen,  sadly.  "She  left  no  message  for  him, 
and  she  does  not  mention  his  name  in  her  letter.  There 
is  only  one  way  to  solve  the  mystery,  and  that  is  for  him 


173 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

to  write  to  her.  She  will  be  obliged  to  answer,  then  he 
can  judge  from  her  reply  the  state  of  her  feelings  to- 
ward him." 

"Yes,  that  will  be  the  best  way,"  said  Mr.  Hutchin- 
son. "I  will  take  her  letter  to  the  office  and  let  him 
read  it  and  advise  him  to  write  to  her.  I  can't  see  what 
has  got  into  the  girl,"  he  exclaimed,  impatiently.  "She 
must  explain  herself.  I  will  not  have  her  play  fast  and 
loose  with  Philip." 

"You  may  be  sure  she  thinks  she  has  a  good  reason 
for  her  conduct,  although  she  has  not  confided  in  us," 
replied  her  mother,  staunchly. 

The  next  morning,  when  Philip  entered  the  office, 
he  felt  at  once  that  there  was  bad  news  for  him.  He 
read  pity  and  commiseration  in  the  face  of  Dora's 
father,  who  opened  a  drawer  in  his  desk  and  taking  out 
a  letter,  silently  handed  it  to  him. 

Manning  received  it  with  beating  heart.  He  gazed 
at  the  graceful  chirography  on  the  outside  of  the  en- 
velope. "  Am  I  to  read  it  ?"  he  asked,  in  an  unsteady  tone. 

"Certainly,"  replied  the  old  man,  tenderly,  yet 
tersely,  turning  to  his  desk  and  beginning  to  write 
fiercely.  He  heard  the  rustle  of  the  turning  leaves, 
then  all  was  silent.  He  listened  for  some  sound.  He 
dreaded  to  turn  around.  A  hand  laid  upon  his  shoulder 
caused  him  to  jump  nervously.  Philip  stood  at  his  side 
and  laid  the  letter  on  the  desk. 

"I  am  nothing  to  her,"  he  said,  with  pale  lips,  "not 
worth  mentioning.  There  are  messages  even  for  Adol- 
phus  Carlton,  but  not  a  word  for  me.  I  have  deceived 
myself  in  thinking  that  she  cared  for  me." 


174 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

"Now,  my  dear  boy,"  said  Mr.  Hutchinson,  gently, 
"don't  jump  at  conclusions  so  hastily.  I  cannot  ac- 
count for  my  daughter's  conduct,  but  my  advice  to  you 
is  to  write  and  find  out  for  yourself.  As  I  said  once  be- 
fore, she  may  be  piqued  at  your  tardy  love-making, 
and  will  make  no  further  advances.  So  I  say  write  to 
her,  here  is  her  address." 

Philip's  face  brightened ;  as  a  drowning  man  will  catch 
at  a  straw,  he  caught  at  the  old  man's  suggestion. 

"I  will  act  as  you  advise,"  he  said,  "I  will  write  and 
learn  my  fate  from  her.  Thank  you  for  giving  me  a 
glimmer  of  hope.  I  thought  when  I  read  that  letter 
it  was  all  over  for  me,  but  I  will  make  one  more  effort," 
and  he  grasped  the  old  man's  hand  gratefully,  and  left 
the  office. 

Upon  his  arrival  at  home,  not  wishing  to  meet  any- 
one, he  entered  the  house  at  the  rear  and  went  immedi- 
ately to  his  room.     He  was  eager  to  write  to  Dora. 

"I  am  so  anxious  and  unsettled  all  the  time  over  this 
terrible  uncertainty.  I  am  not  fit  for  business  or  pleas- 
ure. Better  to  know  my  fate  at  once  and  bear  it  like 
a  man."  He  seated  himself  at  the  desk  and  tried  to 
write,  but  it  was  hard  to  express  himself  just  as  he  would 
like  to.  He  tore  up  sheet  after  sheet ;  one  was  too  formal 
another  too  reproachful.  At  last  he  decided  to  send  the 
following:  — 
"My  Dear  Miss  Hutchinson:— 

"Allow  me  to  express  my  surprise  and  sorrow  upon 
being  informed  of  your  recent  illness,  and  my  joy  at  your 
recovery,  as  stated  in  your  letter  of  recent  date,  shown 
me  by  your  father.     I  have  called  at  the  office  every 


175 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

day  to  ascertain  if  there  was  news  from  you.  I  thought 
perhaps  I  might  be  remembered  with  a  few  kind  words, 
but  I  was  sadly  disappointed.  So  I  have  resolved  to 
write  and  ask  if  I  can  possibly  have  offended  you  in 
any  way.  If  so,  it  was  unintentional  on  my  part.  You 
could  not  mistake  my  high  regard  for  you,  but  I  may 
in  my  uncouth,  western  way,  have  said  or  done  some- 
thing to  cause  you  displeasure.  If  such  is  the  case,  I 
beg  you  to  be  frank  with  me.  Only  let  me  know  my 
offense,  and  I  will  make  all  the  reparation  in  my  power. 
Send  me  just  a  few  lines,  to  let  me  know  you  are  the 
same  kind  friend  I  parted  with  a  few  weeks  ago,  and  1 
shall  be  the  happiest  of  men. 

i 'Yours  sincerely, 

"Philip  Manning." 

After  the  letter  was  written,  Philip's  spirits  rose; 
youth  is  so  buoyant  and  hopeful,  rarely  depressed  for 
any  length  of  time.  So  Philip  descended  the  stairs  in 
quite  a  different  frame  of  mind  from  when  he  ascended 
them  an  hour  previous. 

He  found  Josie  and  Wallace  planning  a  tennis  court. 
Every  day  brought  Wallace  on  some  pretext  or  other, 
and  he  was  fast  losing  his  heart  to  the  little  western 
maiden;  and  each  time  she  greeted  him  with  such  in- 
nocent, unaffected  pleasure,  that  he  knew  his  pres- 
ence was  not  unwelcome.  Philip  joined  them  and 
helped  stake  out  the  ground.  Then  they  all  went  in  to 
lunch. 

In  the  afternoon,  Mrs.  Hutchinson  called  and  was 
made  acquainted  with  Philip's  sister  and  father.  The 
sweet-faced  old  man,  with  his  long,  white  hair  and  beard 


176 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

and  dreamy,  brown  eyes,  was  a  delightful  revelation  to 
the  society  lady,  who  was  used  to  seeing  old  men  dress 
and  pose  like  youths.  And  the  slender,  dark-eyed 
sister,  who  greeted  her  so  sweetly — if  a  bit  shyly — was 
welcomed  with  a  motherly  kiss  that  won  Josie's  heart 
at  once. 

"You  have  not  taken  your  sister  anywhere  yet,  have 
you?"  inquired  Mrs.  Hutchinson. 

"No,"  replied  Philip.  " She  says  she  cannot  go  until 
she  gets  some  new  gowns,  and  she  seems  in  no  hurry 
about  it.  We  have  been  to  ride  several  times,  that  is  all." 

Josie  laughed  and  blushed.  "I  have  been  so  taken 
up  with  my  new  home,  I  have  not  thought  much  about 
new  dresses,  but  I  must  do  so  soon." 

"I  should  like  to  take  you  to  a  garden-party  next 
week,  if  your  brother  is  willing.  It  is  going  to  be  quite 
a  pretty  affair  and  I  think  you  would  enjoy  it." 

"Oh,  that  would  be  delightful,"  exclaimed  Josie 
her  eyes  beaming  with  pleasure.  "  Of  course  Philip 
is  willing;  and  I  must  get  a  pretty,  new  dress.  I  wish 
I  had  some  one  to  advise  me  about  dressmakers  and 
fabrics.    I  am  so  ignorant  about  such  things." 

"I  will  go  with  you  if  you  would  like  to  have  me," 
said  Mrs.  Hutchinson.  "I  regret  my  daughter  is  not 
at  home.  She  would  be  just  the  one  to  pilot  you  among 
all  the  pretty,  dainty  things  you  young  girls  love;  but 
we  will  see  what  we  can  do  by  ourselves.  I  know  a 
good  dressmaker  who  will  just  suit  you.  She  loves  to 
dress  young  girls,  and  has  a  great  knack  of  bringing  out 
all  their  good  points."  (Mentally  she  added,  'She  will 
be  delighted  with  a  fresh  little][rosebud  like  you.") 


177 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

After  further  discussion  about  colors,  styles  and  fab- 
rics, it  was  decided  that  Philip  should  bring  his  sister 
on  the  morrow  to  Mrs.  Hutchinson's,  and  they  would 
spend  the  morning  shopping,  and  Philip  should  join 
them  at  lunch. 

After  Mrs.  Hutchinson  had  gone,  Josie  expressed 
herself  as  delighted  with  her,  and  joyfully  anticipated 
the  morrow.  It  would  be  a  new,  pleasurable  experi- 
ence to  the  young  girl,  who  had  hitherto  only  been 
able  to  buy  the  necessities  of  life,  with  very  little  regard 
to  beauty  or  style.  But  now  she  could  select  those 
bright  tints  that  she  knew  would  harmonize  so  well 
with  her  dark  eyes  and  hair.  She  could  also  buy  laces 
and  ribbons  to  trim  with.  Oh,  the  delight  of  being  able 
to  spend  money  freely,  without  sighing,  as  it  passes  out 
of  one's  reluctant  hands.  She  could  hardly  sleep  that 
night,  her  head  and  mind  were  so  full  of  the  beautiful 
tomorrow. 

She  arose  bright  and  early  and  was  ready  and  anxious 
to  start  hours  before  she  could  persuade  her  brother  to 

go. 

"Why,  they  have  not  had  their  breakfast  yet," 
laughed  Philip.  "  No  one  starts  shopping  until 
ten." 

So  she  curbed  her  impatience  and  waited  until  the 
lazy  old  clock  ticked  itself  around  to  nine.  Philip  had 
given  her  what  she  considered  a  small  fortune  to  spend. 

"  Oh,  I  shall  not  spend  half  of  it,"  she  exclaimed,  in 
dismay.  "Yes,  you  will,"  her  brother  replied,  "and  be 
asking  for  more  tomorrow."  But  Josie  shook  her  head 
incredulously.    It  was  well  she  did  not  see  the  check 

178 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

he  gave  Mrs.  Hutchinson.  It  would  have  frightened 
the  little  country  girl. 

"  Josie  does  not  know  much  about  the  cost  of  finery," 
he  said,  to  Mrs.  Hutchinson  on  their  arrival.  "  She  has 
never  had  the  opportunity  to  find  out.  I  have  given 
her  what  she  thinks  ought  to  buy  a  bride's  trousseau; 
but  I  know  it  will  not  go  far  toward  what  she  needs  to 
appear  among  other  girls,  and  I  want  her  to  have  just 
as  pretty  things  as  they  do;  and  I  shall  consider  it 
a  great  kindness  on  your  part  to  see  that  she  is  well 
equipped  with  everything  she  needs,  and  if  that  check 
is  not  sufficient  I  will  settle  any  bills  you  may  contract." 

"You  are  a  most  liberal,  kind-hearted  brother,"  said 
Mrs.  Hutchinson,  fervently.  "I  am  not  going  to  be 
extravagant  just  because  you  have  been  so  generous. 
I  shall  buy  for  her  just  the  same  as  I  should  if  she  were 
my  own  daughter." 

Philip  took  his  sister  up  stairs  and  presented  her  to 
Aunt  Helen. 

"My  dear  child,"  she  said,  "I  have  grown  to  love 
your  brother  very  dearly,  and  you  are  as  like  him  as  it 
is  possible  to  be  in  looks.  If  you  are  as  lovable  in  mind 
and  manner  I  shall  love  you  equally  well." 

Josie  was  greatly  interested  in  the  sweet-faced  invalid, 
and  promised  to  visit  her  often  and  read  to  her. 

What  a  day  that  was  for  Josie.  She  felt  as  though 
she  was  in  fairyland,  among  the  bewildering  array  of 
pretty  silks,  laces  and  muslins.  She  opened  her  big 
eyes  very  wide  in  amazement  at  some  of  Mrs.  Hutchin- 
son's purchases.  Money  was  so  new  a  thing  for  her  to 
handle  lavishly,  that  prices  and  durability  still  clung  to 


179 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

her  mind ;  and  when  she  saw  laces,  that  looked  as  though 
a  slight  breeze  would  blow  them  away,  it  almost  took 
her  breath.  She  hoped  it  was  all  right,  and  would 
not  exceed  the  crisp  notes  in  her  pocket-book.  On 
learning  that  Mrs.  Hutchinson  had  plenty  of  money  for 
all  the  purchases,  and  to  spare,  and  that  all  the  money 
in  her  own  little  purse  was  to  buy  any  little  trifles  that 
she  wanted,  Josie  gave  up  worrying  and  busied  herself 
in  purchasing  many  little  articles  always  desired,  but 
never  attainable  before. 

From  their  shopping  expedition,  they  drove  to  the 
dressmaker's  where  they  left  most  of  their  purchases 
with  explicit  instructions  from  Mrs.  Hutchinson  to 
have  them  made  up  at  once. 

This  was  promised  by  the  affable  modiste,  who  over- 
whelmed Josie  with  her  compliments  and  evident  ad- 
miration of  her  slender,  girlish  form  and  pretty  face. 
Philip  joined  them  at  dinner,  and  in  the  evening  they 
attended  a  concert,  ending  one  of  the  happiest  days  the 
little  western  girl  had  ever  spent. 


180 


CHAPTER  XXTV. 

A  GARDEN  PARTY. 

As  the  days  glided  by,  Philip  began  to  watch  anxious- 
ly for  a  letter  from  Dora.  Every  morning  he  paced 
the  veranda,  awaiting  the  return  of  John,  with  the  mail- 
bag  When  it  came,  he  would  seize  it  with  eager  hands, 
and,  carrying  it  into  the  hall,  tumble  its  contents  upon 
the  table,  and  anxiously  scan,  one  by  one,  each  letter 
it  contained;  but  each  day  brought  a  fresh  disappoint- 
ment, until  at  last  he  realized  there  was  no  hope.  Dora 
evidently  desired  to  drop  his  acquaintance  and  he  must 
submit  to  her  decision.  What  her  reasons  were,  his  per- 
plexed brain  could  not  conceive.  He  resolved  to  be 
sensible  about  it.  He  would  not  allow  it  to  spoil  his 
life.  He  would  devote  himself  to  his  sister's  best  in- 
terests and  enjoyment,  and  try  and  forget  Dora.  He 
did  not  wish  to  grow  cynical  regarding  women,  but  his 
experience  of  the  past  year  had  opened  his  eyes  to  traits 
in  the  female  character  which  he  had  never  dreamed 
existed  there.  He  had  greatly  admired  two  beautiful 
golden-haired  women,  but  both  had  terribly  disap- 
pointed him.  He  did  not  think  he  should  ever  admire 
another  blonde  woman;  they  were  naturally  capricious 
and  false.  He  was  glad  Josie  was  dark;  henceforth 
she  would  be  the  only  woman  of  any  interest  to  him. 

It  was  the  day  of  the  garden  party,  and  very  sweet 
and  pretty  Josie  looked  in  her  cream  colored  organdie, 

181 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

trimmed  with  chiffon  and  pink  roses.  A  broad-brimmed 
hat,  covered  with  cream  lace  and  roses,  shaded  the 
bright,  piquant  face. 

"How  do  I  look?"  she  asked,  standing  before  her 
brother  for  approval. 

"Sweet  as  a  rose,"  he  exclaimed,  heartily.  "I  shall 
be  very  proud  of  my  little  sister.  I  knew  a  little  finery 
would  bring  you  out  all  right." 

They  drove  to  Mrs.  Hutchinson's,  and  then  all  three 
drove  to  a  beautiful,  suburban  residence,  where  the 
spacious  gardens  were  filled  with  guests.  It  was  like 
a  fairy  scene  to  Josie,  —  the  groups  of  lovely  dressed 
ladies,  with  the  dark  suits  of  the  men  showing  in  plain 
relief  against  their  light,  summer  gowns;  the  cosy  nooks 
in  shady  places  for  a  quiet  tete-a-tete;  the  fountains 
with  gigantic  rims  on  which  one  could  sit  and  feed  the 
swans;  the  out-door  games  for  those  who  cared  for  the 
exertion ;  the  pretty  maids  in  lace  caps  and  ruffled  aprons 
serving  creams  and  ices  to  all  who  wished;  the  great 
beds  of  flowers,  palms,  and  shrubs;  and  the  con- 
servatories filled  with  choice  plants  —  all  to  be 
admired. 

Josie  was  presented  to  the  hostess  and  her  two 
daughters,  who  in  their  turn  introduced  her  to  others, 
so  that  she  was  soon  surrounded  by  a  circle  of  friends 
and  admirers.  The  women  patronized  her  on  her 
brother's  account.  "The  rich,  young  Westerner,  you 
know."  The  men  sought  her  acquaintance  because 
she  was  a  very  pretty  girl,  and  a  fresh,  young  face  was 
always  welcomed  by  them.  Edith  and  Jennie  were 
among  the  first  to  greet  her. 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

"  My,  how  she  has  blossomed  out,"  said  Jennie,  in 
an  aside  to  her  sister.  "Someone  has  evidently  guided 
her  to  a  dressmaker,  and  behold  the  result." 

Wallace  devoted  himself  to  her  soon  after  her  ar- 
rival, and  showed  her  such  marked  attention  that  sev- 
eral smiled  and  nodded  their  heads  knowingly. 

Adolphus  was  quite  taken  by  the  sweet,  brown  eyes 
that  looked  into  his  without  a  shadow  of  flirtation  in 
their  velvety  depths.  Adolphus  was  a  young  man  of 
few  wits  and  but  few  words  to  express  them,  but  he  ad- 
mired a  pretty  girl  when  he  saw  one,  and  he  thought  this 
one  uncommonly  charming.  So  he  lingered  by  her  side 
until  Jennie,  secretly  enraged,  carried  him  off  with  her 
in  spite  of  his  very  evident  reluctance. 

Edith  made  herself  very  agreeable  to  Philip,  and  kept 
him  at  her  side  most  of  the  afternoon.  Next  to  Dora, 
Philip  admired  Edith,  and  it  was  no  difficult  task  to 
keep  him  near  her,  as  he  was  averse  to  making  new  ac- 
quaintances. 

Mrs.  Warren's  garden  party  was  a  decided  success, 
and  in  all  that  gathering,  not  one  enjoyed  it  as  thorough- 
ly as  Josie.  To  her  it  had  the  novelty  of  being  her  first 
party,  and  she  made  so  many  pleasant  acquaintances. 
She  had  the  satisfaction  of  knowing  that  her  dress  was 
pretty  and  appropriate,  and  for  the  first  time  in  her 
life  she  was  conscious  of  being  well  dressed  and  in 
style. 

When  Josie  reached  home,  she  gave  her  father  and 
Mrs.  Croft  a  graphic  description  of  the  party. 

"Oh,  Mrs.  Croft,  if  you  could  only  have  seen  some 
of  the  lovely  dresses  the  ladies  wore.     They  looked  aa 

i83 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

hough  they  grew  on  them,  they  fitted  so  perfectly. 
Everyone  was  so  nice  to  me  except  one  man,  he  scowled 
and  turned  away  as  soon  after  the  introduction  as  he 
could.  His  name  was  Graham.  I  wonder  if  Philip 
knows  him?" 

When  Josie  asked  her  brother  if  he  knew  Mr.  Graham 
and  why  he  should  scowl  at  her,  he  replied  —  that  he 
did  know  him,  and  that  he  supposed  he  scowled  at  her 
because  she  was  his  sister.  "But  I  would  rather  he 
scowled  than  smiled  at  you;  you  have  nothing  to  fear 
from  his  scowls." 

"Why  does  he  dislike  you?  What  reason  has  he?" 
asked  Josie. 

"Oh,  one  of  those  cases  of: — 

"  'I  do  not  like  you,  Dr.  Fell, 
The  reason  why  I  cannot  tell. ' " 

"I  did  not  know  but  what  he  might  be  an  admirer  of 
Miss  Hutchinson's,  and  resented  your  coming." 

"You're  a  sharp  little  girl,"  replied  Philip,  with  a 
sad  smile. 

"I  was  also  introduced  to  Adolphus  Carlton,"  and 
Josie  laughed  merrily.  "What  a  queer  specimen  he  is. 
Just  imagine  him  out  on  the  western  frontier.  How 
the  cowboys  would  hustle  him.  He  sat  by  me  a  long 
time  and  gazed  at  me  through  his  eye  glass  as  though  he 
found  me  as  great  a  specimen  as  I  did  him.  But  at 
last  Miss  Dunlap  came  up  and  asked  him  to  escort  her 
through  the  conservatories  and  he  meekly  obeyed.  As 
they  walked  away  together,  I  could  not  help  wondering 
what  she  saw  to  admire  in  him.  To  me  he  seemed  all 
collar  and  cane." 


i*4 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

"I  think  she  admires  his  money  as  much  as  any- 
thing," replied  Philip.  "He  has  very  little  else  to  rec- 
ommend him." 

"Oh,  by  the.  way,  Philip,  I  heard  some  news  that  I 
think  will  interest  you.  A  group  of  ladies  were  talking 
about  Miss  Hutchinson's  being  abroad,  and  one  of  the 
ladies  said  that  Mr.  Graham,  the  young  man  who 
scowled  at  me,  and  a  Mr.  DeVere  were  to  sail  next 
week.  'He  is  going  to  see  Dora,'  remarked  the  other 
lady;  'he  is  a  very  persistent  wooer,7  and  they  both 
laughed." 

Philip  received  the  information  with  a  calm  face, 
but  a  sinking  heart.  Harold  Graham  was  going  to 
renew  his  suit  to  Dora;  and  now  that  she  was  offended 
with  him,  she  would  no  doubt  be  easily  won.  At  first, 
it  seemed  as  though  he  must  fly  to  her  and  beg  her  to 
listen  to  him  and  explain  her  strange  conduct.  Then 
again  his  pride  would  prohibit  any  such  course.  He 
would  scorn  to  pursue  a  lady  with  attentions  she  did  not 
desire.  No,  he  must  resign  her,  and  make  the  best  of 
it. 

The  next  day,  two  girl  friends  of  Josie's  arrived. 
Then  commenced  a  series  of  pleasure  trips,  picnics, 
boating,  tennis  and  garden  parties,  all  enjoyed  so  much 
by  Josie,  who  was  no  longer  shy  and  quiet,  but  the  life 
of  the  party  on  all  occasions.  She  had  such  a  bright, 
witty  way  of  saying  things,  without  being  sarcastic  or 
personal,  that  she  soon  became  a  great  favorite,  and 
received  more  invitations  than  she  could  accept.  She 
liked  society,  and  went  a  great  deal,  escorted  by  her 
brother,  who,  the  ladies  declared,  had  lost  the  sprightly 

i85 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

boyish  frankness,  they  had  so  greatly  admired.  He 
had  become  grave  and  taciturn.  Many  a  pretty  girl 
tried  all  her  arts  of  fascination  upon  him,  but  though 
courteous  and  pleasant,  there  was  no  warmth  in  his 
manner;  rather  an  agreeable  endurance.  This  they 
at  last  resented  and  left  him  in  disgust,  voting  him  a 
stupid  old  bachelor. 

Toward  Edith,  his  manner  was  more  friendly,  and 
he  often  sought  her  society.  At  first  this  raised  her 
hopes  of  eventually  winning  him,  but  at  last,  even  she 
had  to  admit  that  he  was  only  friendly,  and  nothing 
more;  but  it  was  some  palliation  that  he  seemed  to  prefer 
her  society  to  others. 

Philip  rarely  visited  the  Hutchinsons  now.  The 
house  was  too  full  of  associations  which  he  was  striving 
to  forget.  But  Josie  liked  Mrs.  Hutchinson  very  much, 
and  consulted  her  on  all  perplexing  matters,  as  she 
would  have  done  her  mother. 

Mrs.  Hutchinson,  lonely  without  her  daughter,  took 
the  motherless  girl  to  her  heart,  and  urged  her  to  visit 
her  often.  Josie  soon  learned  to  love  Aunt  Helen, 
and  spent  many  hours  in  her  company,  telling  of  the 
delights  of  her  new  life  and  a  good  deal  of  the  old  life. 
They  grew  confidential  as  to  the  estrangement  of  Philip 
and  Dora. 

"I  was  prepared  to  love  her  as  a  sister,"  said  Josie, 
sadly.  "  Philip  had  told  me  so  much  of  her  beauty  and 
sweet  ways.  He  seemed  so  sure  of  her  love.  But  to 
find  her  gone  and  no  kind  message  teft  for  him,  and  no 
word  since.  I  know  he  must  have  written  to  her,  for 
I  noticed  his  eagerness  to  get  the  mail  every  morning, 

186 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

but  at  last  he  must  have  lost  hope,  for  he  is  so  despond- 
ent, although  he  tries  hard  to  hide  it.  You  can  hardly 
blame  me  for  feeling  offended  with  the  girl  who  worked 
this  change  in  my  once  gay,  light-hearted  brother. 
She  little  knows  the  kind,  loving  heart  she  has  wounded 
She  will  never  find  another  like  him." 

"Yes,"  sighed  Aunt  Helen,  "what  you  say  is  all 
right,  and  I  feel  as  grieved  about  it  as  you  do.  I 
know  she  did  love  him  at  one  time.  In  fact,  it  was  a 
case  of  love  at  first  sight,  and  what  has  changed  her  so, 
I  cannot  imagine.  She  may  have  heard  some  malicious 
story.  No  one  can  find  a  flaw  in  your  brother's  char- 
acter or  conduct,  and  it  is  unlike  her  to  give  credence 
to  anything  of  that  kind.  So  it  is  a  great  mystery  and 
will  so  remain  until  her  return,  and  then  I  shall  ask  her 
some  very  direct  questions." 

"What  I  do  not  understand,"  said  Josie,  "is  that 
she  will  not  give  him  a  chance  to  defend  himself.  It  is 
not  fair  to  him.  I  feel  that  if  they  could  only  meet  and 
talk  the  matter  over,  all  the  mystery  might  be  explained; 
but  instead  of  that,  she  condemns  him  unheard,  and 
will  probably  marry  Mr.  Graham  and  spoil  my  brother's 
life  as  well  as  her  own." 

"I  do  not  think  she  will  accept  Mr.  Graham.  She 
has  known  him  from  childhood,  and,  although  he  de- 
sires to  marry  her,  I  am  sure  she  does  not  love  him. 
We  can  only  wait  for  her  return  and  reconciliation  with 
Philip." 

"When  do  you  expect  her?"  asked  Josie,  anxiously. 

"Not  until  fall,  I  believe,"  replied  Aunt  Helen. 

"Oh,  dear,  what  a  long  time  to  wait,"  sighed  Josie. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

A  SECOND  PROPOSAL. 

In  a  pretty  little  villa  on  the  banks  of  a  blue,  limpid 
lake,  Dora  Hutchinson  was  slowly  recovering  both 
health  and  beauty.  Pleading  her  recent  illness,  she 
withdrew  herself  from  many  of  the  merry  doings  at- 
tended by  her  friends,  and  spent  much  time  upon  the 
lake.  In  a  pretty  canopy-covered  boat,  she  lazily  rows 
or  floats  for  hours,  declining  all  company  but  her  own 
sad  thoughts,  and  they  are  sad  indeed,  as  she  thinks 
of  her  ruined  hopes  and  the  deception  of  one  whom  she 
had  thought  all  goodness  and  nobility.  She  often 
thought  of  the  gypsy's  words  spoken  that  Christmas 
eve,  and  how  she  had  scornfully  repudiated  them.  She 
thought  of  the  conversation  upon  the  morality  of  men 
in  general,  that  day  when  Edith  had  expressed  no  faith 
in  any  man.  How  she  had  defended  Philip,  even 
against  this  notorious  woman,  Violet  Devereaux,  whom 
he  had  taken  with  him  on  his  western  trip.  And  he 
had  returned,  expecting  to  find  her  ready  and  waiting 
to  drop  into  his  arms,  whenever  he  condescended  to 
extend  them. 

"Well,  he  did  not  find  me,"  she  murmured,  with 
curling  lip,  "and  I  don't  mean  that  he  shall  very  soon. 
And  then  to  write,  begging  me  to  explain  any  mis- 
understanding or  offense  he  might  have  committed. 
No,  there  is  no  explanation,  Philip  Manning,  for  what 

1 88 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

I  saw  with  my  own  eyes.  I  would  not  have  believed 
an  angel,  but  I  must  believe  what  I  saw  for  myself." 

Dora  had  received  letters  from  both  her  mother  and 
Aunt  Helen,  speaking  in  high  terms  of  the  beauty  and 
sweetness  of  Philip's  sister,  and  lamenting  the  fact  that 
she  was  not  at  home  to  make  her  acquaintance.  "You 
would  love  her  like  a  sister,"  wrote  Aunt  Helen.  But 
Dora  thought  differently.  "I  never  want  to  see  her," 
she  thought,  "it  she  is  as  much  like  her  brother  as  they 
say,  no  doubt  she  is  just  as  deceitful  and  hypocritical  as 
he  is.  I  shall  not  disclose  my  secret  to  any  of  them.  They 
may  think  me  a  coquette,  or  anything  they  choose,  be- 
fore I  will  confess  spying  upon  the  man  I  loved,  and 
seeing  him  elope  with  another  woman.  I  should  die 
of  shame,"  and  the  angry  tears  rolled  down  her  crimson 
cheeks. 

One  day,  returning  from  a  row  upon  the  lake,  she 
was  met  at  the  door  by  Mrs.  Morris,  with  the  informa- 
tion that  a  gentleman  friend  was  waiting  for  her  in  the 
drawing  room. 

"Who  is  it?"  gasped  Dora,  with  pale  lips. 

"Why,  do  not  look  so  frightened,"  cried  Mrs.  Morris, 
anxiously;  "it  is  only  an  old  friend  from  home.  He 
arrived  on  the  'Romania'  that  landed  yesterday." 

"I  cannot  see  him,"  cried  Dora,  staggering  up  the 
stairs.     "Send  him  away,  tell  him  I  am  not  well." 

Mrs.  Morris  gazed  after  the  retreating  figure  with  wide- 
open  eyes  of  amazement;  then  went  to  the  drawing 
room  to  deliver  her  message.  She  laughed  nervously 
as  the  young  man  came  forward  to  meet  her.  "I  hardly 
know  how  to  tell  you,"  she  said,  in  evident  embarrass- 

189 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

ment,  "but  she  does  not  wish  to  see  you,  and  begs  to 
be  excused.  She  is  very  much  changed  since  her  ill- 
ness and  denies  herself  to  everyone." 

"May  I  ask  of  you  another  favor?"  asked  Harold 
Graham,  for  it  was  he.  "Will  you  kindly  hand  her 
this  card?  I  think  she  will  see  me  after  reading  it," 
and  he  penciled  a  few  lines  upon  a  card  and  handed  it 
to  Mrs.  Morris,  who  graciously  accepted  the  commission 
and  left  the  room. 

Going  to  Dora's  room,  she  knocked  softly.  After  a 
few  moments  of  silence,  she  knocked  again,  louder  this 
time,  and  Dora,  opening  the  door,  peered  out  with  pale 
face  and  frightened  eyes. 

"My  dear  Dora,"  said  Mrs.  Morris,  gently,  "I  hate 
to  disturb  you,  but  that  troublesome  friend  of  yours 
begged  me  to  hand  you  this  card." 

Dora  received  it  reluctantly,  but  upon  reading  it, 
her  face  cleared  up,  and  a  sigh  of  relief  burst  from  her 
lips.  "Oh,  it  is  Mr.  Graham,"  she  said.  "Tell  him 
I  will  be  down  soon,"  and  Mrs.  Morris  left  the 
room  thoroughly  convinced  that  Dora  Hutchinson  was 
a  changed  girl  indeed. 

Dora  again  read  the  few  lines  penciled  upon  the  card. 
They  were  as  follows:  —  "Dora,  I  have  crossed  the 
ocean  to  see  you,  it  will  break  my  heart  if  you  refuse. 
Harold." 

"Poor  Harold,  I  believe  he  is  the  only  friend  I  have 
after  all,"  sighed  Dora.  "  I  had  no  right  to  be  so  angry 
with  him  for  telling  me  an  unpleasant  truth;  but  I 
thought  at  the  time  he  was  deceiving  me.  Oh,  what  a 
weary  world  this  is,  with  deceit  and  disappointment  on 
every  hand." 

190 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

She  made  a  hasty  toilette,  hurried  downstairs  and 
entered  the  drawing  room.  Harold  hastened  to  meet 
her  with  outstretched  hands,  his  handsome  face  beam- 
ing with  joy.  "  Oh,  Dora,  I  am  so  glad  to  see  you  once 
more,"  he  exclaimed,  holding  her  hands  in  a  close  grasp, 
while  his  eager  eyes  devoured  her  lovely  face. 

"Well,  this  is  a  great  surprise,  Harold,  surely,"  said 
Dora,  smiling  sweetly. 

"It  is  a  pleasant  surprise,  I  hope,"  he  answered, 
eagerly. 

"Yes,  I  am  glad  to  see  anyone  from  home.  Did  you 
come  over  alone  ?" 

"No,  DeVere  came  with  me.  He  has  gone  to  Paris, 
where  I  shall  join  him  later." 

"How  are  all  the  folks,  Harold?  You  must  tell  me 
all  about  them.  When  did  you  see  my  parents  last? 
Are  they  well?" 

"Now,  Dora,"  exclaimed  Harold,  with  a  grave,  dig- 
nified air  that  he  knew  so  well  how  to  assume.  "If 
I  tell  you  about  our  friends,  I  may  say  something  to 
arouse  your  displeasure,  and  I  don't  wish  to  run  the 
risk." 

"Poor  Harold,"  said  Dora,  with  a  laugh,  "You  are 
the  only  victim  of  my  unhappy  temper.  I  never  quar- 
rel with  anyone  else;  but  I  promise  to  be  more  careful 
in  the  future.  I  must  school  myself  to  hear  unpleasant 
news  without  being  so  sensitive  about  it  and  venting 
my  wrath  upon  you.  So  you  need  not  fear  to  tell  me 
anything  you  think  will  interest  me." 

"Well,  there  is  not  much  to  tell,"  said  Harold. 
"Jennie  Dunlap  has  at  last  convinced  Adolphus  that  his 


191 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

future  happiness  depends  upon  making  her  Mrs.  Carl- 
ton, so  they  are  engaged.  Edith  is  trying  her  best  to 
captivate  Philip  Manning,  and  is  in  a  fair  way  to  suc- 
ceed, as  he  is  constantly  by  her  side."  Harold  did  not 
look  at  Dora  as  he  made  this  last  remark. 

She  uttered  no  comment  and  he  proceeded.  "Man- 
ning's young  sister  is  making  a  favorable  impression, 
especially  on  poor,  susceptible  Wallace.  He  follows 
her  everywhere,  and  her  liking  for  him  is  patent  to  all." 

"How  do  you  like  her?"  asked  Dora,  indifferently. 
"Is  she  pretty?" 

"Well,  yes,  I  suppose  she  is  considered  pretty,  but 
I  do  not  care  for  brunettes.  She  is  a  little  slender, 
brown-haired  girl,  with  big,  brown  eyes,  shy  and  soft 
as  a  gazelle's.  I  should  never  like  her  for  her  resem- 
blance to  her  brother,  whom  I  detest,  as  you  well  know. 
She  has  ingraciated  herself  into  the  good  graces  of 
your  mother  and  Aunt  Helen,  and  spends  a  good  deal 
of  her  time  there.  Your  mother  chaperons  her  every- 
where. She  quite  takes  the  place  of  the  absent  daughter. 
I  hope  when  you  return,  you  will  rout  her  out." 

"I  know  I  shall  dislike  her,"  sighed  Dora.  "Poor 
mother  is  so  easily  taken  by  a  pretty  face  and  an  ap- 
pearance of  youth  and  innocence ;  but  she  will  not  de- 
ceive me,"  and  Dora  shut  her  lips  with  a  firm,  decided 
pressure  that  brooded  no  good  for  poor  little  Josie. 

Mrs.  Morris  invited  Harold  to  stay  to  dinner  and  he 
gladly  accepted  the  invitation.  In  the  cool  of  the  even- 
ing, they  all  went  out  upon  the  lake,  and  Harold  made 
himself  so  agreeable  and  entertaining  that  he  was  cor- 
dially invited  to  call  again. 


19* 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

i 

Dora  was  somewhat  quiet,  but  not  unhappy.  She 
was  glad  to  see  Harold  and  be  friendly  with  him  once 
more,  and  his  evident  pleasure  in  her  society  was  like 
balm  to  her  wounded  heart. 

When  Harold  left  the  villa  that  evening,  with  the 
memory  of  Dora's  smiles  and  evident  pleasure  at  seeing 
him,  he  congratulated  himself  upon  the  success  of  his 
well-laid  plans.  Here  in  this  quiet  little  villa,  with  no 
rival  to  interfere,  his  persistency  would  win  her  heart, 
while  it  was  sore  and  wounded  at  another's  deception. 
She  would  look  upon  him  as  one  who  had  saved  her 
from  a  terrible  fate,  by  letting  her  know  the  true  charac- 
ter of  the  man  she  thought  so  perfect.  After  he  had 
won  her  consent  to  become  his  wife,  he  would  hurry 
the  marriage  before  she  found  out  his  deception. 
Afterwards  should  she  accuse  him  of  misrepresenta- 
tion, he  could  laugh  and  affirm  that  all  was  fair  in 
love. 

Day  after  day  found  Harold  at  the  villa.  He  made 
himself  so  agreeable  and  charming  that  Dora  learned 
to  look  forward  to  his  visits  with  a  great  deal  of  pleasure, 
and  when  he  absented  himself  for  a  week  to  take  a  run 
up  to  Paris,  she  was  very  lonely,  and  welcomed  his  re- 
turn with  more  pleasure  than  she  would  have  thought 
possible  six  months  previous.  Another  thing  that 
helped  Harold's  wooing  very  much,  were  the  continued 
praises  sung  by  Mrs.  Morris  and  her  daughter.  Harold 
had  completely  won  their  admiration,  he  was  so  hand- 
some and  gallant,  so  witty  and  entertaining,  and  so 
lavish  with  his  money.  Not  a  day  passed,  but  fruit, 
flowers  or  music  were  sent  to  the  villa.    They  looked 


<93 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

upon  Dora  as  a  very  fortunate  girl  to  secure  such  a  lover. 
They  knew  nothing  of  Philip  Manning,  and  the  sad 
secret  locked  in  the  breast  of  their  friend,  so  they  urged 
her  on  to  her  fate. 

If  we  hear  a  person  continually  praised,  it  is  sure  to 
affect  our  liking  for  him.  Of  course  Dora  realized  to 
what  this  was  leading,  but  she  seemed  indifferent  to 
the  future.  To  enjoy  the  present,  and  forget  the  past, 
was  all  she  desired.  She  did  not  love  Harold  Graham, 
but  he  had  been  her  childhood's  friend,  and  she  liked 
him  as  well  as  it  would  be  possible  to  care  for  anyone 
now.  She  had  always  intended  to  marry  him  until 
she  saw  Philip,  and  now  she  must  go  back  and  take  up 
her  life  at  that  point,  blotting  out  all  that  had  happened 
since.  True,  Harold  had  been  wild,  but  he  had  not 
been  deceitful  and  tried  to  hide  his  failings  under  a  garb 
of  sanctimony.  So  one  day  when  they  were  out  on  the 
lake  together,  and  Harold  pleaded  his  case  once  more, 
Dora  consented  to  be  his  wife. 

"You  know  I  do  not  love  you,  Harold;  but  if  you  are 
satisfied  with  my  friendship,  I  am  willing  to  be  your 
wife." 

"I  am  perfectly  satisfied,"  he  replied,  "for  I  do  not 
despair  of  winning  your  love.  I  will  write  to  your 
father  tonight  and  inform  him  of  my  happiness,  and 
ask  his  consent  and  blessing;  and  pray,  Dora,  let  the 
wedding  be  at  an  early  date.  I  should  prefer  to  marry 
at  once,  and  travel  for  several  months  before  our 
return.  How  would  that  suit  you?"  he  asked, 
eagerly. 

"No,"  said  Dora.    "I  must  be  married  at  home. 


194 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

I  am  an  only  child,  and  it  would  be  a  great  disappoint- 
ment to  my  parents,  if  I  was  married  elsewhere."  So 
it  was  decided  that  they  should  return  home  early  in 
the  fall,  and  be  married  soon  after. 


*S>5 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

SAVED  FROM  THE  FLAMES. 

The  summer  months  drifted  by  and  fall  came  with 
its  bright-hued  foliage  and  cool,  crisp  days.  Philip 
had  become  quite  reconciled  to  the  inevitable.  He 
had  heard  of  Graham's  trip  to  Europe,  and  his  subse- 
quent engagement  to  Dora.  They  were  expected 
home  soon,  and  he  would  be  obliged  to  meet  her  in 
society.  It  would  be  a  trying  ordeal  to  see  her  fair, 
sweet  face  and  know  she  was  to  be  the  wife  of  another, 
and  that  other  so  unworthy.  Even  though  she  had 
treated  him  so  ill,  he  felt  nothing  but  sorrow  and  pity 
for  her  future,  if  she  placed  it  in  the  keeping  of  such  a 
man  as  Harold  Graham.  And  he  would  have  striven 
so  hard  to  make  her  life  one  of  pleasure  and  happiness. 
Why  must  she  choose  the  wrong  man  ?  That  was  the 
puzzling  question  of  his  life. 

One  night  Philip  attended  the  theatre.  He  was  fond 
of  a  good  play;  it  helped  to  while  away  many  an  other- 
wise dreary  hour,  and  caused  him  to  forget  himself  in 
watching  the  portrayal  of  mimic  life  upon  the  stage. 
Arriving  late,  he  was  unable  to  procure  a  choice  seat, 
and  was  obliged  to  take  one  in  the  pit,  and  found  him- 
self wedged  in  between  an  old  man  on  one  side,  and  a 
pert,  pretty  miss  on  the  other,  probably  a  nurse  girl 
enjoying  her  night  off.  The  play  had  begun;  the  cur- 
tain had  fallen  on  the  first  act.    Philip,  after  reading 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

his  programme  carefully,  gazed  leisurely  about  him. 
There  was  a  full  house;  every  seat  was  taken.  There 
was  the  usual  flutter  of  fans,  the  mingling  perfumes, 
bright  faces  and  sparkling  jewels.  In  the  boxes  were 
groups  of  beautiful  ladies  in  evening  dress.  As  his 
eyes  swept  from  box  to  box,  he  saw  many  with  whom 
he  was  acquainted  and  who  would  gladly  have  welcomed 
him  among  them.  As  his  eyes  rested  upon  the  last 
box  on  the  lower  tier,  nearest  the  stage,  he  started  with 
surprise.  Recovering  himself,  he  buried  his  face  be- 
hind his  programme  for  fear  of  attracting  attention  by 
his  agitation.  What  had  he  seen  to  produce  such  an 
effect  upon  him?  Only  a  beautiful  woman,  with  a 
mass  of  golden  hair  framing  her  lovely  face;  great  blue 
eyes  looking  into  his,  but  with  no  recognition  in  their 
depths.  He  looks  again  and  shudders;  she  has  turned 
away,  and  he  can  only  see  her  perfect  profile.  He 
studies  her  curiously;  it  is  the  beautiful  woman  that  re- 
sembles Violet,  and  so  close  is  the  likeness  that  it  fas- 
cinates him.  He  cannot  keep  his  eyes  from  her  lovely 
face.  "How  like,"  he  murmurs.  She  does  not  look 
at  him  again,  but  smiles  and  talks  with  a  group  of  men 
who  surround  her.  Diamonds  gleam  upon  her  white 
neck,  and  in  her  hair.  She  carries  a  great  bunch  of 
cream  roses,  and  each  man  in  her  box  wears  a  cream 
colored  rose.  Many  a  lorgnette  is  levelled  at  that  box, 
and  knowing  nods  and  winks  are  exchanged,  but  all 
acknowledge  her  to  be  the  most  beautiful  woman  in  the 
house.  The  play  proceeds,  but  it  has  lost  its  interest 
for  Philip.  He  has  made  up  his  mind  to  leave  as  soon 
as  the  curtain  falls  on  the  next  act. 


197 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

What  is  that  little  wreath  of  smoke  issuing  from  above 
the  curtain?  There  is  no  powder  or  fire  being  used 
on  the  stage.  He  watches  it  closely  and  curiously. 
Now  others  have  caught  a  glimpse  of  it.  Someone  cries 
"Fire!"  and  at  once  the  mass  rise  to  their  feet,  and  the 
cry  is  caught  up,  "Fire!  Fire!"  resounds  through  the 
house  from  frightened  lips.  In  vain  the  manager  shouts 
to  the  audience  to  compose  themselves.  The  smoke 
fills  the  house  and  tiny  jets  of  flame  are  seen.  The  actors 
have  hurried  from  the  stage,  and  the  crowd  is  rush- 
ing and  struggling  for  the  door.  Philip  tries  to  calm 
and  advise  those  nearest  him.  He  helps  to  extricate 
the  women  and  children  thrown  down  by  the  maddened 
crowd.  All  at  once  he  hears  his  name  called  in  an  agon- 
ized tone  of  entreaty : "  Philip,  Philip,  save  me."  Look- 
ing up,  he  sees  Violet  Devereaux,  standing  alone  in  her 
box,  deserted  by  ail  her  admirers,  her  white  arms  ex- 
tended towards  him,  while  she  calls  upon  him  to  save 
her. 

It  takes  but  a  moment  to  clear  the  seats  and  reach 
her  side.  The  flames  have  caught  the  draperies  upon 
one  side  of  the  box,  and  she  is  enveloped  in  smoke; 
overcome,  she  is  sinking  to  the  floor  when  he  reaches 
her.  Tearing  down  a  curtain  still  untouched  by  the 
flames,  he  throws  it  over  her,  and  taking  the  slender 
form  in  his  arms,  he  carries  her  to  a  place  of  safety,  and 
at  last  succeeds  in  reaching  the  pavement.  Finding 
her  carriage,  he  carefully  lifts  her  in,  and  directs  the 
driver  to  drive  home  as  fast  as  possible.  He  cannot 
leave  her  in  this  unconscious  condition,  so  he  enters 
the  carriage  and  holds  the  golden  head  against  his 

198 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

shoulder  until  they  reach  the  handsome,  brown  stone 
house,  Violet  calls  her  home.  The  driver  rings  the 
bell  frantically,  and  sends  out  the  frightened  maids  to 
help  Philip  with  their  mistress.  They  carry  her  in  and 
lay  her  upon  her  luxurious  bed.  Philip  has  all  he  can 
do  to  calm  the  frightened  servants  and  assure  them  that 
their  mistress  is  not  dead.  One  is  sent  immediately 
for  the  doctor,  and  Philip  directs  the  others  to  undress 
their  mistress  and  chafe  her  hands  and  feet  and  use 
such  restoratives  as  they  have  until  the  coming  of  the 
physician.  He  repairs  to  the  hall  below  to  await  his 
coming.  He  does  not  feel  like  leaving  until  he  ascer- 
tains how  she  is  and  sees  she  has  good  care. 

As  he  sits  in  the  hall  awaiting  the  arrival  of  the  doctor, 
the  strangeness  of  the  situation  strikes  him.  He,  to 
be  in  the  house  of  Madam  Devereaux,  a  woman  his 
heart  loathed;  but  she  was  a  woman  in  danger  and  he 
had  gone  to  her  assistance.  "How  strange  that  she 
should  call  to  me.  How  did  she  know  my  name?  I 
could  have  sworn  it  was  Violet.  I  never  saw  two 
women  so  nearly  alike  in  my  life." 

The  doctor  came  soon,  and,  after  spending  a  half- 
hour  with  his  patient,  returned  to  Philip,  with  a  serious 
face. 

"How  is  she?"  Philip  inquired,  anxiously. 

"She  is  resting  quite  comfortably  now,"  he  replied. 

"  She  has  received  no  injuries;  she  will  recover  soon  ?" 
asked  Philip. 

"  I  doubt  if  she  lives  a  week,"  said  the  doctor.  "  She 
may  live  ten  days,  but  no  longer.  She  inhaled  some  of 
the  smoke.    Her  lungs  are  not  strong  enough  to  bear  it, 


199 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST 

and  her  heart  is  weak;  all  these  things  combined  with 
the  shock  will  prove  fatal  soon,  I  fear." 

Philip  gazed  at  him  in  horror  and  incredulity.  "The 
flames  did  not  touch  her.  Oh,  you  must  be  mistaken. 
It  would  be  horrible  to  lose  her  young  life  like  that, 
and  she  is  so  beautiful." 

"Well,  the  young  and  beautiful  have  to  die  occasion- 
ally, as  well  as  the  old  and  decrepit.  One  comfort  is, 
she  has  neither  parents,  husband,  nor  children  to  mourn 
her  loss,  and  not  many  friends  I  am  afraid.  Poor 
child,  she  has  led  a  gay,  careless  life.  Are  you  acquain- 
ted with  her?" 

"No,  lam  a  perfect  stranger,"  replied  Philip.  "She 
called  to  me  and  I  went  to  her  assistance.  Has  she  a 
competent  nurse?" 

"Oh,  yes;  she  will  be  well  cared  for." 

"Then  I  will  go  home  if  I  can  be  of  no  further  use," 
and  Philip  took  up  his  hat. 

At  that  moment  a  maid  ran  down  the  stairs  and  de- 
livered a  message  from  her  mistress.  "She  wants  you 
to  call  tomorrow;  she  will  be  better  then,  and  she  is 
very  desirous  of  seeing  you,  and  wants  you  to  promise  to 
come." 

"Yes,  I  will  come,"  said  Philip.  "I  was  intending 
to  call  to  see  how  she  was  getting  along.  I  hope  she 
will  be  quite  recovered  by  tomorrow.  Good-night," 
and  Philip  passed  out  of  the  house. 

When  he  reached  home  he  was  relieved  to  find  all 
quiet,  for  they  had  evidently  not  heard  of  the  fire.  He 
was  tired  and  glad  to  escape  the  questions  and  explan- 
ations he  would  have  to  make  had  the  household  known 
of  it. 

300 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST, 

The  next  morning  the  family  was  all  excitement. 
The  early  morning  papers  had  a  full  account  of  the 
burning  of  the  theatre.  Josie  knew  her  brother  was 
intending  to  go  that  evening  and  as  soon  as  he  made  his 
appearance,  she  overwhelmed  him  with  questions, 
and  made  him  describe  the  scene  and  his  rescue  of  the 
beautiful  lady,  and  cried  when  Philip  told  her  what  the 
doctor  had  predicted. 

"Oh,  how  very,  very  sad.  I  do  hope  he  is  mistaken, 
I  shall  be  so  anxious  to  hear  from  her.  Could  I  call 
and  see  her?" 

"I  am  not  quite  sure,"  replied  her  brother,  in  a  hes- 
itating manner.  "If  you  can  do  any  good,  I  will  let 
you  know." 

After  breakfast  Philip  rode  to  the  city  and  called 
at  Mr.  Dunlap's  office  to  see  Wallace.  Here  he  had 
to  give  another  description  of  the  fire.  He  spoke 
of  assisting  several  women  and  children,  but  he 
did  not  mention  the  rescue  of  the  beautiful  Madam 
Devereaux. 

"Have  you  heard  that  Dora  Hutchinson  arrived  home 
yesterday?"  asked  Wallace. 

"No,  has  she?"  said  Philip,  in  a  tone  he  strove  to 
make  indifferent. 

"Yes,  and  Graham  is  with  her.  I  expect  we  shall 
have  a  wedding  before  long.  Well,  I  wish  her  much 
joy  in  her  choice.  I  do  not  believe  Harold  Graham  is 
calculated  to  make  a  woman  happy  for  any  length  of 
time;  but  it  will  serve  Miss  Dora  just  right  for  treating 
you  in  the  way  she  did.  I  never  could  understand  it. 
Did  you  ever  get  a  clue  to  her  conduct?" 


301 


FROM  OTJT  OF  THE  WEST. 

"No/we  parted  the  best  of  friends,  but  something  hap- 
pened during  my  absence  to  part  us,  and  she  does  not 
wish  to  explain  or  hold  any  communication  with  me." 

"Well,  I  have  known  Dora  Hutchinson  for  a  number 
of  years  and  always  considered  her  one  of  the  finest 
girls  I  knew.  She  was  always  so  generous  and  high- 
minded,  but  she  is  a  puzzle  to  me  now,"  and  Wallace 
shook  his  head. 

Philip  left  the  office  and  proceeded  homeward,  his 
mind  filled  with  vague  thoughts  of  the  two  fair  women 
who  had  crossed  his  path,  aroused  his  admiration  and 
love,  then  passed  scornfully  by,  leaving  him  in  deep, 
wondering  mystery  as  to  their  conduct. 

After  lunch  Philip  prepared  to  call  upon  Madam 
Devereaux.  He  wished  he  did  not  have  to  go,  but 
common  decency  made  it  imperative  that  he  should  call 
and  inquire  how  she  was;  and  he  had  promised  to  do  so. 
"I  suppose  she  wants  to  see  and  thank  me  for  saving 
her  from  the  flames.  It  will  be  terribly  embarrassing. 
I  would  rather  go  to  the  dentist." 


x>» 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

A  CONFESSION. 

Philip  ascended  the  brown  stone  steps  and  rang  the 
bell.  The  door  was  opened  by  the  same  maid  who  had 
delivered  the  message  the  night  before.  It  looked  as 
though  she  had  been  watching  for  him. 

"Come  right  in,"  she  said,  hurriedly.  "  Madam 
has  been  expecting  you  a  long  time  and  wants  to  see 
you  at  once." 

"How  is  she?"  inquired  Philip,  stepping  into  the  hall 
and  laying  aside  his  overcoat  and  hat.  "Won't  it  agi- 
tate her  too  much  to  receive  a  stranger?" 

"  No,  she  is  calm  now  you  have  come.  Her  agitation 
was  all  before  you  came,  waiting  and  listening,  and  ask- 
ing a  dozen  times  if  you  had  come." 

She  led  the  way  up  the  broad  stairway,  and  opening 
a  door,  bade  him  enter,  while  she  stepped  back  into  the 
hall  and  closed  the  door. 

The  room  Philip  entered  was  a  daintily  furnished 
boudoir,  all  blue  and  gold  and  white.  Upon  a  pale 
blue  velvet  couch  lay  Violet  Devereaux.  A  negligee 
robe  of  white  silk  clothed  the  slender  figure.  Her 
golden  hair  was  plaited  in  two  long,  luxuriant  braids, 
making  the  lovely  pale  face  look  like  a  child's.  As 
Philip  entered  the  room,  she  gazed  at  him  with  a  plead- 
ing, frightened  look  in  her  great,  blue  eyes.  He  drew 
nearer  and  was  about  to  politely  inquire  how  she  was 


203 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

feeling,  when  his  eyes  suddenly  dilated  with  incredu 
lous  amazement.    The  woman  before  him  was  Violet, 
the  flower  girl. 

She  stretched  out  her  white  hands  towards  him  and 
cried  in  trembling  tones,  "Oh,  Philip,  forgive  me." 

He  stood  as  though  petrified,  gazing  down  upon  her, 
while  she  covered  her  eyes  to  shut  out  the  horrified, 
questioning  gaze  that  seemed  to  be  searching  her  very 
soul.  At  last  he  spoke:  "So  you  are  Madam  Dever- 
eaux!  Is  this  another  trap  you  have  led  me  into?" 
and  his  voice  rang  with  such  scorn  and  disgust,  that 
she  shrank  as  though  he  had  struck  her. 

"Don't,  don't!"  she  cried,  in  such  tones  of  anguish 
that  Philip's  harshness  softened  before  them. 

"  I  want  to  make  some  reparation;  I  want  to  explain," 
she  moaned. 

"  Do  not  agitate  yourself  so,"  said  Philip,  imploringly. 
"You  will  harm  yourself.  God  only  knows  what  this 
all  means,  but  do  calm  yourself,  I  beg." 

"Yes,  I  must  be  calm,  if  I  would  do  and  say  all  I  de- 
sire. Only  listen  to  me  as  kindly  as  you  can.  I  have 
wronged  you  bitterly,  I  am  a  very  wicked  woman,  but 
perhaps  I  can  undo  some  of  the  wrong  before  I  die. 
Did  you  know  I  had  got  to  die,  Philip?"  and  she  raised 
herself  and  looked  at  him  pitifully. 

He  bowed  his  head  in  reply,  unable  to  speak. 

"Hand  me  that  glass  of  medicine,"  and  she  pointed 
to  a  little  stand  covered  with  glasses  and  bottles. 
"Then  sit  down  while  I  tell  you  all  my  treachery  and 
deceit.  You  will  hate  me,  but  that  I  expect  and  deserve. 
I  have  no  power  or  wish  to  harm  you  more,  and  if  I 


2Q4 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

can  reconcile  you  to  the  girl  you  love,  I  shall  die 
happy." 

Philip  mechanically  handed  her  the  medicine,  and 
after  she  had  taken  a  swallow,  replaced  it  on  the  table. 
Sinking  into  a  chair,  he  buried  his  face  in  his  hands. 

"Philip,  I  want  you  to  know  that  I  consider  you  one 
of  the  truest  and  noblest  of  men.  You  are  the  only 
really  good  man  I  ever  met,  and  what  little  love  my 
poor,  wicked,  callous  heart  was  capable  of  feeling,  was 
given  to  you.  My  first  motive  in  seeking  your  acquaint- 
ance in  the  disguise  of  a  flower  girl  was  done  through 
bribery.  I  was  offered  ten  thousand  dollars  to  ac- 
complish your  ruin  and  part  you  from  Dora  Hutchin- 
son." 

Philip  sprang  to  his  feet,  his  face  white  as  death. 
"You  were  bribed  to  ruin  me?  To  part  me  from  the 
woman  I  loved  —  for  the  paltry  sum  of  ten  thousand 
dollars?  What  had  I  ever  done  that  you  or  anyone 
should  plot  to  wreck  my  life?"  He  paced  the  floor  in 
his  excitement. 

Violet  waited  until  the  impetuous  flow  of  words  had 
ceased.  Then  she  continued:  "You  were  a  stranger 
to  me.  I  had  no  object  at  first  but  to  win  the  money; 
but  you  were  so  tantalizingly  shy  and  unapproachable, 
that  at  last  I  became  piqued  by  my  failures  and  became 
interested  in  the  only  man  I  could  not  bring  to  my  feet. 
Then  you  were  so  good  and  kind  to  the  poor  flower  girl. 
I  began  to  loathe  myself  for  the  part  I  was  acting,  and 
soon  learned  to  love  you,  and  money  was  no  object  to 
me  then.  I  wanted  you,  and  I  redoubled  my  efforts 
to  secure  you.    I  plotted  and  lied  and  led  you  on  step 


305 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

by  step,  vowing  I  would  never  give  you  up  until  I  had 
won  your  love  in  spite  of  yourself.  It  was  a  struggle 
worthy  of  a  better  cause.  You  know  how  well  I  have 
succeeded,  and  what  has  it  amounted  to  ?  I  parted  you 
from  the  girl  you  loved;  I  have  wrecked  your  life,  and 
only  gained  your  hatred." 

Philip  sat  motionless,  his  heart  and  brain  stunned 
by  the  terrible  words  this  woman  was  uttering.  "You 
spoke  of  bribery,"  he  said,  at  last.  "Who  was  your 
accomplice  in  this  shameful  scheme?" 

"Harold  Graham,"  she  said  in  reply,  in  a  tired, 
weary  tone. 

"I  might  have  known  without  asking,"  he  said,  bit- 
terly. "He  is  the  only  enemy  I  ever  had.  Well,  you 
have  helped  him  to  accomplish  his  purpose.  He  is  en- 
gaged to  Miss  Hutchinson,  and  they  are  to  be  married 
soon.  It  is  strange  how  the  wicked  flourish.  Perhaps 
you  can  tell  me  what  caused  Miss  Hutchinson  to  with- 
draw her  friendship  from  me,  and  refuse  to  have  any 
communication  with  me." 

"She  was  told  that  when  you  started  for  the  West 
you  took  me  with  you." 

"Who  told  her  that?"  demanded  Philip,  fiercely. 

"Harold  Graham  told  her;  she  was  at  the  depot  and 
saw  us  leave  together." 

"My  God!  I  would  not  have  believed  that  any  human 
creature  could  perpetrate  such  a  dastardly  scheme." 
He  laid  his  head  upon  the  table  and  sobbed  aloud. 

Violet  raised  herself  to  a  sitting  position,  her  face 
drawn  and  haggard,  "Philip,"  she  cried,  "you  will  kill 
me."  and  gasping  she  fell  back  among  the  pillows,  so 


206 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

white  and  still,  that  it  arrested  his  own  grief,  and  he 
sprang  to  her  side.  He  saw  she  had  fainted.  Ringing 
the  bell,  he  summoned  the  maid. 

"Your  mistress  has  fainted,"  he  exclaimed,  hurriedly. 
"I  am  afraid  she  has  overtaxed  herself  by  talking.  If 
she  does  not  recover  soon,  send  for  the  doctor,"  and 
Philip  passed  out  of  the  room  and  left  the  house. 

The  bright  sunshine  seemed  a  mockery.  The  hurry- 
ing throng  jostled  him  carelessly,  and  went  laughing  by. 
How  could  they  do  it?  How  could  anyone  laugh  in 
such  a  world  of  sorrow?  He  walked  on  and  on,  un- 
conscious of  where  he  was  going.  There  seemed  noth- 
ing else  to  do  but  walk,  walk,  until  he  could  walk  no 
longer;  and,  dropping  exhausted  upon  a  seat  in  a  small 
park,  there  he  sat  until  a  suspicious  policeman  ordered 
him  to  move  on.  Mechanically  rising  he  started  to 
walk  on,  but  he  was  so  tired  and  his  head  ached  so  hard 
that  he  could  hardly  see. 

"Want  a  hack?"  shouted  a  voice  in  his  ear. 

"Yes,"  answered  Philip,  "take  me  home." 

"All  right,"  chuckled  the  cabby,  winking  at  his  com- 
panions. "Where  do  you  live?" 

Philip  produced  his  card,  and  upon  reading  it  the 
cabby  whistled,  "Well,  I  must  say,  you  have  wandered 
a  good  ways  from  home.  It  is  a  good  eight  miles. 
You  will  have  to  pay  me  well." 

"You  shall  be  well  paid,"  answered  Philip,  "only 
get  me  home  as  soon  as  you  can." 

"All  right,"  and,  taking  Philip's  arm,  he  hustled  him 
into  a  carriage  and,  springing  upon  the  box,  drove 
off. 


207 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

The  long  ride  rested  and  revived  him,  so  that  by  the 
time  he  reached  home  he  was  quite  like  himself.  Pay- 
ing the  hackman  liberally,  he  entered  the  house,  and 
found  the  young  people  in  the  music  room.  Not  dis- 
turbing them  he  went  to  his  room.  A  cheerful  fire 
was  burning  on  the  hearth,  and  drawing  up  an  easy 
chair,  he  sat  down  to  think.  His  mind  was  clearer 
now,  and  he  tried  to  recall  every  word  she  had  uttered. 
Well,  the  mystery  of  Dora's  actions  was  at  last  solved, 
and  now  she  was  about  to  marry  the  very  man  who  had 
wrecked  his  life.  It  was  too  late  to  untangle  the  web 
fate  had  surrounded  him  with,  and  he  felt  deeply  hurt 
that  Dora  had  not  given  him  a  chance  to  vindicate  him- 
self, as  he  could  have  done.  And  now  it  was  too  late. 
Perhaps  some  day  she  would  learn  the  truth  and  be 
sorry. 

He  went  down  to  dinner  as  usual,  resolved  not  to 
betray  his  bitter  secret.  He  would  not  parade  his 
bleeding  heart  to  a  curious,  unsympathetic  world. 

Josie  asked  many  questions  about  the  sick  lady.  He 
tried  to  answer  her  satisfactorily  and  truthfully,  but 
it  was  a  hard  task. 

"When  shall  you  go  again?"  she  asked. 

"  Never,"  he  came  near  shouting,  but  checked  him- 
self in  time.  "  I  do  not  think  she  will  expect  me  again," 
he  replied. 

"Oh,  but  you  must  call  again,"  said  Josie,  positively. 
"  I  am  so  anxious  to  know  how  she  gets  along.  Has  she 
a  mother  or  sisters?" 

Philip  thought  of  the  beautiful  woman  lying  alone 
amidst  her  luxurious  surroundings,  tended  by  no  living 


208 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

hand  but  her  servants,  and  a  pang  of  pity  shot  through 
his  heart.  But  he  answered,  "  She  has  good  care,"  and 
turned  away  to  preclude  further  questioning. 

Josie  was  not  half  satisfied,  but  she  saw  her  brother 
did  not  wish  to  continue  the  subject,  so,  with  a  sigh, 
she  joined  the  others,  but  often  during  the  evening  she 
stole  glances  in  Philip's  direction.  "  Some  fresh  trouble 
is  worrying  him,"  she  thought.  "He  is  becoming  so 
changed.  I  shall  have  a  long  list  of  grievances  against 
Miss  Dora  Hutchinson  by  the  time  she  comes  home. 
I  believe  I  shall  hate  her." 

That  evening  Wallace  called.  After  a  few  pleasant 
words  with  Josie,  he  came  over  to  where  Philip  sat, 
and,  slapping  him  vigorously  on  the  shoulder,  exclaimed : 
"  I  have  just  heard  of  your  rescue  of  Madam  Devereaux 
the  other  night  at  the  theatre.  Why  didn't  you  tell  a 
fellow?  You  might  have  known  how  interested  I 
would  be.  Tell  me  all  about  it,"  and  Wallace  seated 
himself  comfortably  by  Philip's  side,  ready  and  anxious 
to  hear  full  particulars. 

"There  is  not  much  to  tell,"  said  Philip,  wearily. 
"She  was  in  danger  and  I  carried  her  out,  found  her 
carriage  and  took  her  home.  I  then  sent  for  a  doctor 
and  after  he  came  I  left." 

"Well,  that  is  about  as  few  words  as  you  could  squeeze 
it  into,"  said  Wallace,  laughing.  "Are  there  no  de- 
tails?" 

"Nothing  worth  mentioning,"  replied  Philip,  calmly. 

"Old  man,  you  are  positively  growing  dull  in  your 
old  age.  Don't,  for  heaven's  sake,  take  things  so  seri- 
ously.   Wake  up  and  shake  off  this  lethargy.    Take 


209 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

the  advice  of  a  man  of  experience.  Oh,  by  the  way, 
Manning,  what  has  become  of  that  beautiful  flower 
girl,  who  looked  so  much  like  Madam  Devereaux  ?  " 

Philip  groaned  in  spirit.  When  would  this  torture 
cease?  "I  have  not  seen  her  lately/'  he  answered, 
shortly. 

"Well,  I  won't  torment  you  any  longer,"  said  Wallace, 
rising.  "I  see  you  are  not  in  a  conversational  mood 
tonight,  so  au  revoir.  I  am  going  to  seek  more  con- 
genial company.  Your  sister  will  make  up  for  your 
deficiencies,"  and  he  strode  away  to  find  Josie. 


9X0 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 


Dora  was  glad  to  be  at  home  once  more.  She  had 
been  away  several  months  and  the  joy  of  her  parents 
at  her  return  was  very  pleasing.  Aunt  Helen  had 
missed  her  more  than  the  others.  Secluded  in  her  own 
room,  with  but  few  visitors,  she  missed  the  bright  face 
with  its  sunny  smile,  and  the  long,  pleasant  talks. 

"I  do  not  know  what  I  should  have  done  if  it  had  not 
been  for  Philip's  sister,"  she  said.  "I  am  so  anxious 
for  you  to  meet  her.  You  will  love  her,  I  know,"  and 
she  gazed  at  her  niece  wistfully. 

"I  am  glad  if  she  was  able  to  make  you  happy," 
Dora  replied,  and  quickly  changed  the  subject  to  a 
pleasant  episode  that  occured  during  the  voyage  home. 

Mrs.  Hutchinson  had  cautioned  both  Aunt  Helen  and 
her  husband  not  to  assail  Dora  with  questions  about 
Philip  as  soon  as  she  returned.  "Wait  a  few  days,"  she 
said,  "and  give  her  a  chance  to  speak  of  him  of  her  own 
free  will.  We  shall  gain  nothing  by  trying  to  force  her 
confidence."  So  Dora  was  received  with  open  arms  and 
no  unpleasant  questions  asked. 

She  had  been  at  home  just  a  week,  when  one  morning 
a  messenger  boy  ran  up  the  steps  and  inquired  for  Miss 
Dora  Hutchinson.  Upon  her  appearance,  he  handed 
her  a  letter  and  departed.  Dora  gazed  at  the  letter 
curiously.    Her  name  was  traced  upon  the  envelope  in 


211 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

a  weak,  trembling  hand.  She  broke  the  seal  and,  glanc- 
ing at  the  signature,  read  the  name  of  Violet  Devereaux. 
She  uttered  a  sharp  cry  and  sank  into  a  chair,  faint 
and  trembling.  "What  can  Violet  Devereaux  want  of 
me?"  she  cried,  with  white  lips.  At  last  composing 
herself,  she  read  the  letter,  which  was  as  follows: 

"Miss  Hutchinson:  — 

"I  want  to  see  you.  I  am  dying.  I  have  only  a  few 
days  to  live.  I  beg  of  you  to  come  and  see  me,  (as  you 
value  your  future  happiness).  Come  at  once,  is  the 
dying  request  of 

"Violet  Devereaux." 

"Violet  Devereaux  dying,  and  wants  to  see  me! 
What  does  it  mean?  Perhaps  she  wants  to  exonerate 
her  lover  before  she  dies.  It  may  be  at  his  instigation 
that  ^he  sends  for  me.  I  will  not  go,  nothing  she  could 
say  would  have  any  influence  on  me.  It  would  be  un- 
pleasant for  us  both;  no,  I  will  not  go."  She  tried  to 
dismiss  the  subject  from  her  mind,  but  she  could  not  do 
it.  All  the  time,  she  kept  repeating:  "Come  as  you 
value  your  future  happiness.  Come  to  me;  I  am 
dying."  "Yes,  I  will  go,"  she  resolved  at  last.  " I  will 
hear  what  she  has  to  say,  poor  thing,  perhaps  she  will 
die  happier." 

So  Dora  ordered  the  carriage  and  was  driven  to  the 
home  of  Violet  Devereaux.  She  was  admitted  at  once 
and  taken  to  the  same  pretty  boudoir  where  Philip  had 
listened  to  the  story  of  his  wrongs.  With  a  woman's 
keen  eye  Dora  noted  the  dainty,  luxurious  taste  with 
which  the  room  was  furnished.  It  was  such  a  different 
room  from  what  Dora  had  imagined.    She  had  ex- 


213 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

pected  to  be  ushered  into  a  darkened  chamber,  —  the 
proper  abode  of  a  dying  woman;  but  this  great,  sunny, 
cheerful  room  had  every  suggestion  of  life.  In  front 
of  one  of  the  sunny  windows  a  couch  had  been  placed, 
and  among  the  pillows  lay  a  little,  fairy-like  creature, 
with  masses  of  rippling,  golden  hair,  that  looked  like 
tangled  sunbeams.  Could  this  be  Violet  Devereaux,  — 
a  creature  to  be  shunned  and  despised?  Why,  she 
looked  more  like  an  angel  than  anything  earthly.  No 
wonder  men  went  mad  over  her,  and  lost  their  heads 
as  well  as  their  hearts."  Dora  felt  like  taking  her  in 
her  arms  and  kissing  her,  and  she  had  expected  to  hate 
her. 

"Are  you  very  ill?"  asked  Dora,  advancing  towards 
the  couch,  sympathy  in  her  fresh,  young  voice. 

"Yes,  I  am  ill  unto  death,  they  tell  me,  although  I 
do  not  suffer  pain,"  replied  Violet,  sadly.  "I  am  so 
glad  you  came.    I  wanted  to  see  you  before  I  died." 

"I  am  so  sorry  for  you,"  exclaimed  Dora,  her  eyes 
full  of  tears.    "Can  nothing  be  done?" 

"No,  nothing  can  save  me;  I  am  young  and  life  is 
sweet,  but  in  a  few  days  more  I  shall  have  passed  out 
of  its  sunshine  into  the  dark,  damp  grave.  I  have 
lived  a  merry,  careless,  wicked  life,  and  this  is  the 
end." 

"Have  you  no  relatives  or  friends  with  you?"  asked 
Dora.  "Is  all  being  done  that  could  be,  to  make  you 
comfortable?" 

"I  have  good  care,"  replied  Violet,  evasively.  "Do 
not  waste  your  pity  on  me,  Miss  Hutchinson.  I  have 
a  story  to  tell  you  that  will  drive  all  pity  from  your 

2x3 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

heart;  but  if  I  can  right  some  of  the  wrong  I  shall  die 
happier." 

Dora  listened  patiently,  making  no  comments,  but 
steeling  her  heart  against  any  good  word  this  woman 
might  speak  of  Philip  Manning.  She  felt  sorry  for  the 
dying  woman,  but  no  sympathy  for  her  love  affairs. 

"You  think  Philip  Manning  my  lover,  but  you  are 
mistaken,"  continued  Violet,  in  a  low,  sad  tone.  "He 
never  loved  me.  There  is  not  a  nobler  man  on  God's 
earth  today  than  Philip  Manning,  nor  a  more  bitterly 
wronged  ore." 

Dora  listened  in  amazement  at  these  words.  "If 
he  was  not  your  lover,  wfcv  did  he  take  you  "West  with 
him?"  she  gasped. 

"He  did  not  take  me  West  with  him.  There  you 
were  deceived.  I  asked  him  to  go  with  me  on  a  bus- 
iness trip,  only  three  hours'  ride  from  the  city.  I  re- 
turned to  the  city  and  he  went  on  to  his  western  home, 
alone." 

"Oh,  can  this  be  true?"  cried  Dora,  in  heart-stricken 
tones. 

"  Can  you  not  believe  the  words  of  a  dying  woman  ?" 
asked  Violet,  reproachfully.  "  I  know  my  life  has  been 
full  of  lies  and  deceit,  but  I  am  telling  the  truth  now. 
Philip  Manning  has  always  loved  you  and  no  one  else. 
He  is  heart-broken  over  your  conduct  towards  him, 
which  was  a  great  mystery,  until  I  solved  it  for  him  two 
days  ago,  by  disclosing  the  treacherous  scheme  that 
had  parted  you." 

"How  did  you  become  acquainted  with  Mr.  Man- 
ning?" asked  Dora,  puzzled  to  understand  it  all. 


214 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

"I  disguised  myself  as  a  flower  girl  and  sought  to  at- 
tract his  attention." 

"But  what  was  your  object?"  asked  Dora,  still  per- 
plexed.   "He  was  a  perfect  stranger  to  you!" 

"I  was  hired  to  do  it,"  replied  Violet,  calmly. 

"Hired?  By  whom?  For  what  purpose?"  cried 
Dora,  in  amazement. 

"I  was  hired  by  Harold  Graham.  When  Mr.  Man- 
ning first  came  to  this  city,  the  boys  took  offense  at  his 
superiority  over  them,  both  physically  and  morally. 
He  was  a  standing  rebuke  to  them,  and  they  resolved 
to  dip  him  in  the  city  mire  of  vice.  They  tried  in  every 
way  to  pull  him  down  to  their  level,  but  he  resisted  all 
their  efforts,  much  to  their  chagrin.  At  last,  Harold 
Graham  came  and  persuaded  me,  for  a  consideration 
of  ten  thousand  dollars,  to  take  him  in  hand,  and  not 
only  lower  his  pride  of  conscious  virtue,  but  part  him 
from  you  as  well.  I  accepted  the  bribe.  I  schemed 
and  planned  and  succeeded  in  parting  you.  Then  I 
grew  to  love  him;  but  his  heart  was  all  yours.  He  was 
kind  and  gentle  to  me,  and  admired  my  beauty,  but 
he  did  not  love  me.  I  had  not  seen  him  during  the 
summer  until  the  night  of  the  fire.  I  stood  in  my  box, 
alone,  surrounded  by  smoke  and  flames.  The  others  had 
fled,  and  I  called  to  Philip  to  save  me.  He  came  and 
rescued  me  from  the  flames.  The  next  day  he  called 
and  recognized  me,  and  I  told  him  all.  He  rushed  from 
the  room  nearly  crazed  by  what  I  had  said.  He  will 
never  forgive  me,"  and  Violet  covered  her  face  with 
her  hands,  whiie  the  tears  flowed  down  her  pale 
cheeks. 


215 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

Dora  was  sobbing  too.  Oh,  the  sad,  unhappy 
hearts  of  those  two  women. 

"How  could  you  do  such  a  pitiless,  cruel  thing?" 
cried  Dora.  "You  have  spoiled  two  lives  for  a  paltry 
ten  thousand  dollars.  I  would  have  paid  you  twice 
that  amount  not  to  have  done  it." 

"  Oh,  it  was  not  so  much  for  the  money,"  said  Violet, 
wiping  her  eyes.  "I  thought  it  would  be  great  fun  at 
first  to  bring  down  this  young  saint  a  little.  Then  I 
became  interested  in  him.  But  I  am  sorry  now.  I 
wish  I  had  never  been  tempted  to  see  him." 

"And  you  say  Harold  Graham  was  the  one  who 
bribed  you  to  do  this  thing?  Do  you  know  that  I  am 
engaged  to  him,  and  was  to  have  been  married  next 
month?" 

"  But  you  will  not  marry  him  now,"  exclaimed  Violet, 
anxiously. 

"No,  I  shall  certainly  not  marry  him  after  all  his 
treachery.  It  was  he  who  told  me  you  were  going  West 
with  Mr.  Manning,  and  I  foolishly  believed  him,  and 
went  to  the  depot  to  prove  his  words.  I  saw  Philip 
meet  you,  and  together  you  passed  into  the  car.  It 
was  a  terrible  shock  to  me.  I  was  sick  for  a  long  time, 
and  when  I  recovered,  my  one  thought  was  to  go  away 
that  I  might  not  meet  him  on  his  return.  When  I  heard 
that  my  friends,  the  Morrises,  were  going  to  Europe, 
I  thought  that  was  my  opportunity,  and  I  pleaded  to 
go  with  them,  and  my  parents  consented,  much  against 
their  wishes.  I  crossed  the  ocean  with  my  friends 
and  slowly  recovered  my  health,  but  not  my  spirits.  I 
shunned  all  society  and  brooded  over  my  sorrow.     One 

216 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

day  I  received  a  letter  from  Mr.  Manning,  begging  me 
to  write  and  tell  him  his  offense.  I  never  answered 
the  letter.  Then  Mr.  Graham  came.  I  was  glad  to 
see  him,  and  consented  to  become  his  wife,  thinking 
he  loved  me,  and  all  others  were  false.  And  although 
you  have  done  me  a  great  wrong,  I  am  glad  you  told 
me  the  truth  before  I  became  Harold  Graham's  wife. 
That  would  have  been  a  greater  wrong." 

"You  will  see  Philip,  and  allow  him  to  speak  for 
himself,  very  soon,  will  you  not?"  asked  Violet,  anx- 
iously. 

"I  do  not  think  he  will  desire  it,"  said  Dora,  sadly, 
"as  I  did  not  trust  him  or  give  him  an  opportunity  to 
explain.  He  will  not  consider  me  worthy  of  his  love. 
But  I  am  glad  to  know  he  is  the  true,  good  man  I  always 
considered  him." 

"I  shall  not  be  happy  until  you  are  friends  again," 
said  Violet,  wistfully.  "Can  you  forgive  me  for  the 
suffering  I  have  caused  you  ?  I  have  no  right  to  expect 
it,  but  I  wish  you  could." 

"Yes,  I  forgive  you,"  said  Dora,  gently.  "You  have 
saved  me  from  an  unhappy  marriage  and  re-established 
my  faith  in  a  dear  friend.  You  have  made  what  rep- 
aration you  could.  I  can  hardly  think  of  my  own 
wrongs,  my  heart  is  so  full  of  pity  for  you  in  your  sad 
condition.  I  wish  I  might  do  something  for  you.  Is 
there  no  other  doctor  you  would  like  to  consult  ?  You 
know  doctors  differ  in  their  opinions;  another  might 
give  you  hope." 

"I  did  not  expect  such  kindness  from  you,"  said 
Violet,  gratefully.    "I  think  my  old  doctor,  who  has 


211 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

known  me  for  years,  has  diagnosed  my  case  correctly. 
I  shall  consult  no  other.  If  he  is  mistaken  and  I  re- 
cover, I  will  lead  a  different  life.  I  always  despised 
what  are  called  good  people,  thinking  they  were  all 
hypocrites,  and  hid  their  sins,  or  were  without  tempta- 
tion; but  you  and  Philip  have  made  me  think 
differently." 

"But  suppose  the  worst  comes,  and  you  have  to  die," 
said  Dora,  in  trembling  tones.  "What  of  the  future? 
Have  you  made  your  peace  with  God  ?  Have  you  seen 
a  minister?  I  am  far  from  being  a  good  Christian 
myself;  I  cannot  point  the  way  as  some  good  minister 
could.    Will  you  let  me  send  my  pastor  to  you?" 

"No,  no;  do  not,  I  beg  of  you,"  said  Violet,  earnestly. 
"I  shall  die  as  I  have  lived.  I  will  not  insult  the  Lord 
by  thrusting  upon  Him  the  last  few  hours  of  my  wicked 
life.  I  have  always  lived  in  the  present  never  thinking 
or  caring  for  the  past  or  the  future.  Perhaps  you  will 
come  again  before  the  end,"  and  Violet  looked  plead- 
ingly at  Dora.  "I  would  rather  see  you  than  all  the 
ministers  in  the  city,  and  I  am  sure  you  would  do  me 
more  good." 

"Yes,  I  will  come  again,"  answered  Dora,  heartily, 
"and  I  shall  hope  to  find  you  better.  I  cannot  help 
thinking  the  Lord  will  let  you  live  to  be  a  good,  true 
woman  yet,"  and  Dora  bent  down  and  kissed  the 
sweet,  pale  face  of  the  erring  woman,  and  left  the 
room. 

Upon  reaching  home,  Dora  went  immediately  to  her 
room,  and  wrote  a  note  to  Harold  Graham  that  read  as 
follows: 

21$ 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

"Mr.  Graham: — I  have  seen  Violet  Devereaux. 
She  has  revealed  all  your  treachery  and  deceit.  I  re- 
turn your  ring.  All  is  over  between  us.  I  never  wish 
to  see  you  again. 

"Dora  Hutchinson." 

She  sent  a  servant  at  once  to  find  Harold  Graham 
and  place  the  package  in  his  hands. 

"I  feel  happier  already,"  she  thought.  "I  should 
never  have  been  happy  as  his  wife.  I  ought  not  to 
have  promised.  How  can  I  explain  to  my  father  and 
mother  and  Aunt  Helen  ?  I  shall  get  the  name  of  being 
a  fickle  coquette.  Poor  Philip,  what  must  he  have 
thought  of  my  silence,  after  writing  as  he  did  ?  How 
foolishly  I  have  acted  and  spoiled  my  own  life  as  well 
as  his.  He  will  never  trust  me  again.  I  am  unworthy 
of  him.  He  would  never  have  treated  me  so."  So 
Dora  tormented  her  repentant  heart  until  she  made 
herself  nearly  ill,  and,  pleading  a  headache,  she  retired 
«arly  to  avoid  seeing  anyone. 


219 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

THE   DOUBLE  TRAGEDY. 

The  following  morning,  when  the  early  morning 
papers  were  brought  in  and  laid  at  Mr.  Hutchinson's 
plate,  he  took  one  and  glanced  carelessly  at  the  head- 
lines as  usual,  but  something  he  read  caused  his  face 
to  blanch  with  horror.  "My  God!"  he  exclaimed, 
in  such  a  tone  that  Mrs.  Hutchinson  shrieked  with 
fright. 

"Oh,  Henry,  what  is  it?"  she  cried.  "How  you 
frighten  me,"  and  she  arose  to  come  around  to  his  side, 
but  he  waved  her  back,  and  trying  to  speak  calmly,  said: 

"  Mary  prepare  yourself  for  a  terrible  shock,  but  it  is 
imperative  that  we  should  both  be  calm,  so  we  can  con- 
sider what  is  best  to  do." 

"I  will  try  to,  but  I  am  so  frightened.  Are  any  of 
our  friends  dead?    Do  not  keep  me  in  suspense." 

"Well,  listen,"  and  Mr.  Hutchinson  read  in  husky 
tones: 

"MURDER  AND  SUICIDE. 

"Harold  Graham,  one  of  our  most  popular 
and  wealthy  young  men,  shoots  his  mistress 
through  the  heart,  and  then  sends  a  bullet  into 
his  own  brain.  The  noise  aroused  the  servants 
who,  upon  finding  the  dead  bodies,  rushed 
shrieking  from  the  house  and  gave  the  alarm. 


230 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

The  young  man  was  removed  to  his  home, 
where  his  family  is  plunged  in  the  deepest  grief, 
as  he  was  an  only  son,  and  soon  to  be  united 
to  a  beautiful  young  lady  in  his  own  circle. 
The  murdered  woman  was  the  beautiful  Violet 
Devereaux,  who,  a  few  years  ago,  entranced 
admiring  audiences  at  the  'La  Favorita,,  by 
her  beauty  and  graceful  dancing.  The  house 
is  in  charge  of  a  band  of  Christian  women  until 
relatives  of  the  dead  woman  can  be  found. 
"The  motive  that  provoked  the  crime  is  a 
mystery.  The  young  man's  family  and  his 
fiancee  have  the  heartfelt  sympathy  of  the 
whole  community." 

Mrs.  Hutchinson  listened,  almost  paralyzed  with 
horror.  When  her  husband  ceased  reading,  she  gasped 
one  word,  —  "  Dora." 

"Yes,"  said  her  husband,  "we  must  break  it  as 
gently  as  possible  to  Dora.  I  am  thankful  she  is  late 
this  morning  and  we  have  received  the  first  shock." 

"I  fear  it  will  make  her  ill  again,  she  is  not  very 
strong.  Oh,  how  can  we  tell  her!"  And  Mrs.  Hutch- 
inson wrung  her  hands. 

"We  can  tell  her  better  than  others,  and  we  must  do 
it  at  once,  before  she  sees  the  papers.  Hark !  here  she 
comes.  For  God's  sake  compose  yourself,"  and  Mr. 
Hutchinson  hastily  swallowed  a  cup  of  coffee  as  Dora 
entered  the  room. 

"I  am  sorry  I  was  so  late,"  she  began,  but  ceased 
when  she  saw  the  pale  faces  of  her  parents.   '  ■  Why,  papa 


221 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

and  mamma,  you  look  as  though  you  had  heard  bad 
news.  What  is  it  ?"  and  she  took  her  seat  waiting  anx- 
iously for  an  explanation. 

"Dora,"  said  her  father,  "we  have  indeed  heard 
terrible  news.  You  will  be  as  shocked  to  hear  it  as 
we  were;  but  you  must  try  and  be  calm  for  your  own 
sake  as  well  as  ours." 

"I  will  try,  papa,"  and  Dora  clasped  her  hands 
tightly,  while  her  big,  frightened  eyes  were  fixed  upon 
her  father's  face  inquiringly. 

"A  friend  of  yours  has  committed  suicide,"  said  Mr. 
Hutchinson,  in  a  tone  he  strove  to  render  calm. 

"A  friend  of  mine  has  committed  suicide,"  her  pale 
lips  repeated  after  him.     "Who  is  it,  papa?" 

"Oh,  Dora,  my  child,  how  can  I  tell  you,  but  you 
must  know  sooner  or  later.  It  is  Harold  Graham," 
and  he  sprang  to  his  daughter's  side  just  as  she  was 
slipping  from  the  chair. 

"  It  will  kill  her,  I  knew  it  would,"  sobbed  her  mother. 
"  Oh,  send  for  the  doctor  at  once." 

"Wait  a  few  moments,"  said  Mr.  Hutchinson. 
"  Don't  get  excited,  get  the  hartshorn  and  help  me  bring 
her  to." 

Together  they  worked  over  the  unconscious  girl, 
and  soon  had  the  satisfaction  of  seeing  her  open  her 
eyes. 

"What  is  the  matter?  Did  I  faint?"  she  asked, 
sitting  up  and  gazing  about  her  in  bewilderment. 
"Oh,  Oh,"  she  cried,  covering  her  face  and  shudder- 
ing, as  her  memory  rushed  back,  overwhelming  her 
with  horror. 


222 


I 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

"Compose  yourself,  my  daughter,"  entreated  her 
father.  "There  is  still  more  for  you  to  hear  and  you 
must  nerve  yourself  to  bear  it."  Then  gradually  and 
gently  he  told  her  all. 

She  caught  her  breath  several  times  during  the  re- 
cital, but  did  not  faint  again.  Her  heart  was  filled 
with  pity,  —  not  for  Harold  Graham,  but  for  the  beau- 
tiful, misguided  woman,  his  victim. 

"He  need  not  have  added  murder  to  his  other  crimes," 
she  thought.  "The  poor  girl  was  dying,  but  he  always 
had  a  terrible  temper,  and  the  knowledge  that  Violet 
had  told  of  his  treachery  maddened  him  no  doubt;  and 
now  she  lies  alone  amid  her  splendor  with  only 
strangers'  hands  to  perform  the  last,  sad  rites.  What 
a  terrible  ending,  with  no  hope  of  Heaven's  pardon. 
God  pity  her!" 

It  was  hard  for  Dora  to  receive  the  many 
visits  of  condolence,  and  letters  of  sympathy,  while 
all  the  time  she  was  thinking,  "Oh,  if  they  only 
knew." 

Dora  read  the  daily  papers  eagerly  for  items  in  re- 
gard to  the  funeral  and  burial  of  Violet  Dcvcreaux. 
She  had  been  obliged  to  attend  the  funeral  of  Harold 
Graham  for  the  sake  of  appearances,  and  to  simulate 
a  grief  she  was  far  from  feeling.  The  funeral  was 
strictly  private,  only  the  near  relatives  being  present; 
and  the  curious  multitude  shut  out.  It  was  over  at 
last,  and  the  two  forms  were  laid  away.  The  interest 
died  out.  Other  tragedies,  equally  startling,  filled  the 
papers,  and  they  were  soon  forgotten  by  all  but  the  two 
whom  they  had  so  cruelly  wronged. 


223 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

One  afternoon,  about  two  weeks  after  the  tragedy, 
as  Dora  entered  the  drawing  room,  she  was  surprised 
to  find  a  strange,  young  girl,  in  the  room,  who 
started  like  a  frightened  fawn  upon  her  entrance. 
Dora  recognized  her  at  once  by  her  wonderful  likeness 
to  her  brother.  So  this  was  Philip's  sister.  For  a 
moment  she  was  embarrassed,  then  she  hastened  for- 
ward with  outstretched  hands  and  a  sweet  smile. 

"1  am  sure  you  must  be  Mr.  Manning's  sister,"  she 
said,  "I  am  happy  to  meet  you,"  and  she  took  the 
little  gloved  hand  in  hers.  "Won't  you  be  seated,  and 
lay  aside  your  wraps?" 

"Oh,  no  thank  you,"  replied  Josie,  a  little  stiffly. 
"I  called  to  see  your  aunt." 

" Does  that  mean  that  you  did  not  expect  to  see  me?" 
asked  Dora,  smiling. 

"I  thought  perhaps  you  would  be  out,"  said  Josi 
in  evident  embarrassment. 

"So  you  were  going  to  come  when  you  thought  I 
would  be  out  ?  Now,  I  don't  call  that  kind  of  you.  I 
have  heard  so  much  about  you,  that  I  feel  as  though  you 
were  an  old  acquaintance.  I  am  sorry  you  tried  to 
avoid  me,"  and  Dora  looked  reproachfully  at  the  young 
girl. 

Josie  blushed,  and  felt  ill  at  ease.     "I  did  not  t 
you  would  care  to  meet  me,"  she  said,  naively. 

It  was  Dora's  turn  to  blush  now.     She  remembe 
how  she  had  once  thought  she  should  not  like  to  m 
this  girl,  —  but  that  was  when   she    considered 
brother  a  "gay  deceiver",  and  the  sister  so  like  hi 
must  be  also  deceitful.    That  was  all  changed  now 


224 


: 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

she  had  learned  her  mistake,  and  now  she  longed  to 
make  friends  with  this  girl  whose  eyes  were  so  like 
Philip's. 

"I  think  I  understand  you,"  said  Dora.  "You 
thought  if  I  did  not  care  to  be  friends  with  your 
brother,  I  would  not  care  to  be  friends  with  you.  Well, 
at  one  time  I  did  feel  that  way,  but  now  I  want  to  be 
friends.  I  have  acted  very  foolishly  in  the  past,  and 
through  my  foolishness  lost  your  brother's  friendship. 
I  do  not  wish  to  make  any  more  mistakes." 

Josie's  face  became  radiant  with  delight.  "You  say 
you  made  a  mistake;  have  you  changed  your  opinion 
of  my  brother  ?  Have  you  at  last  found  out  how  good 
and  noble  he  is  ?  Are  you  going  to  be  friends  with  him 
once  more?"  Josie  poured  forth  her  questions  eagerly, 
her  eyes  fixed  earnestly  upon  Dora. 

"Yes,"  answered  Dora,  "I  have  at  last  found  out 
that  your  brother  is  all  that  is  good  and  true,  but  I  was 
led  to  believe  otherwise  at  one  time,  and  never  wished 
to  see  him  again." 

"But  now,"  exclaimed  Josie,  eagerly,  "you  will  give 
him  a  chance  to  explain  and  exonerate  himself?" 

"I  am  ashamed  to,  Josie.  —  May  I  call  you  Josie? 
I  did  not  trust  him;  I  treated  him  shamefully.  I  do 
not  think  he  would  care  to  be  friends  now  after  what 
has  happened." 

"Oh,  but  he  would;  I  know  he  would.  He  has  felt 
so  hurt  over  your  conduct.  He  is  growing  so  thin,  and 
takes  no  interest  in  anything.  He  used  to  be  so  jolly. 
I  had  quite  made  up  my  mind  to  hate  you,"  and  Josie 
looked  reproachfully  at  Dora. 


225 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

"Well,  take  off  your  wraps,  and  we  will  talk  it  over 
and  sec,  if  we  at  least,  can't  be  friends." 

"I  am  willing,"  said  Josie,  "but  you  must  remember 
the  old  adage,  —  *  Love  me,  love  my  dog.*  Now,  I 
haven't  a  dog,  but  I  have  a  brother,"  and  she  looked 
so  roguish  that  Dora  laughed  and  kissed  her. 

"Now,  we  will  go  and  see  Aunt  Helen,  and  then  you 
must  stay  to  dinner.  John  will  take  you  home  in  the 
evening." 

"  I  know  a  better  plan  than  that,"  said  Josie,  her  eyes 
twinkling.  "I  will  stay  with  pleasure  if  you  will  invite 
my  brother  to  come  and  escort  me  home." 

"I  am  afraid  he  would  not  come,"  answered  Dora. 

"Do  you  want  him  to  come?"  persisted  Josie. 

"Yes,  I  want  him  to  come,"  acknowledged  Dora, 
blushing  charmingly. 

"Well,  you  write  a  note  telling  him  I  am  here,  and 
that  you  would  like  to  have  him  call  for  me,  and  I'll 
risk  but  that  he  will  come,"  and  Josie  nodded  her  head 
convincingly. 

So  Dora,  glad  to  be  persuaded,  wrote,  asking  Philip 
to  call,  and  sent  it  to  the  house  that  he  might  get  it  when 
he  came  home. 

Aunt  Helen  was  delighted  when  the  two  girls  en- 
tered her  room,  apparently  the  best  of  friends.  "Now, 
if  she  will  only  make  friends  with  Philip  again,  I  shall 
be  so  happy,"  she  thought.  She  little  knew  how  soon 
her  happiness  was  to  be  realized. 

That  evening,  Dora  looked  so  lovely  as  she  entered 
the  drawing  room  that  Josie  impulsively  exclaimed, 
"Oh,  how  beautiful  you  are!" 

226 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

Dora  blushed  with  pleasure.  "You  are  a  little  flat- 
terer," she  said,  with  a  smile. 

After  dinner  came  a  season  of  nervous  expectation 
for  both  girls.  "Would  Philip  come?  If  not—"  and 
Dora's  heart  grew  cold  at  the  thought.  And  if  he 
did  come,  how  could  she  meet  him  ?  What  should  she 
say? 

Josie  thought,  "If  Philip  does  not  come  now  after 
she  has  asked  him,  he  is  too  proud  and  stubborn  to  be 
worthy  of  her." 

So  they  made  a  pretence  of  talking,  but  each  was 
listening  for  a  footstep.  At  last  there  was  a  sharp  ring 
at  the  doorbell.  Both  girls  started  with  beating  hearts. 
In  a  few  minutes  the  door  was  thrown  open  and  Mr. 
Manning  announced.  Dora  felt  as  if  she  was  going 
to  faint.  She  grasped  the  back  of  a  chair  and  turned 
her  pale  face  towards  the  door.  She  had  not  seen  Philip 
for  many  months.  She  was  conscious  of  a  great  change 
between  the  man  advancing  to  meet  her,  and  the  bright, 
impulsive  Philip  she  had  first  known.  This  was  a 
grave,  dignified  man,  apparently  ten  years  older  than 
the  other  Philip.  He  seemed  like  a  stranger.  "I  have 
lost  him,"  her  heart  cried.     "This  is  not  my  Philip." 

Josie  watched  them  anxiously,  as  they  exchanged 
greetings.  "They  are  both  on  a  high  horse,"  she  said 
to  herself.  "I  must  try  and  bring  them  down,"  and 
she  exerted  herself  to  that  end,  but  with  poor  success. 
Both  Philip  and  Dora  seemed  to  be  vieing  with  each 
other  to  see  which  could  be  the  most  excruciatingly 
formal  and  polite.  At  length  Josie  conceived  the  happy 
thought  of  leaving  them  alone  together.    So  she  madJe 


227 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

the  excuse  that  she  had  forgotten  to  ask  Aunt  Helen 
a  very  important  question,  and,  excusing  herself,  left 
the  room. 

After  Josie's  departure,  Dora  could  hear  her  own 
heart  beat  with  alarming  distinctness.  She  would  like 
to  have  rushed  from  the  room  after  Josie,  but  she  seemed 
unable  to  move  or  speak. 

At  last  a  deep,  grave  voice  spoke.  "  Dora,  why  did 
you  treat  me  so?" 

"Oh,  Philip,  forgive  me,"  she  cried.  "He  told  me 
you  were  fake,  and  I  believed  him.  It  nearly  killed 
me."     She  was  sobbing  now. 

Philip  came  to  her  side  and  put  his  arms  about  her, 
and  said:  "Now  that  you  know  I  have  always  loved  you, 
are  you  willing  to  love  and  trust  me  in  the  future  ?" 

"If  you  will  only  let  me,"  she  sobbed. 

"Then  begin  by  drying  your  eyes,  dear,  and  we  will 
forget  all  the  sadness  of  the  past  and  make  the  most  of 
our  future.  Nothing  shall  ever  part  us  again,  my  dar- 
ling." 

"No,  never  again,"  repeated  Dora. 

At  this  point  the  door  opened,  and  Josie's  mischiev- 
ous face  peered  in.  "May  I  come  in?"  she  asked,  "or 
is  two  company  and  three  a  crowd?" 

"Come  in,  Josie,"  said  her  brother,  "and  congratu- 
late me.  I  have  made  my  peace  with  Dora,  and  soon 
she  will  be  your  own  dear  sister." 

The  two  girls  embraced  each  other  and  laughed  and 
cried  as  girls  will  when  under  great  excitement. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Hutchinson  returned  later  in  the  even- 
ing, and  great  was  their  surprise  and  ioy  to  see  th< 

228 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

daughter  looking  bright  and  happy,  and  apparently 
upon  the  best  of  terms  with  Philip  and  his  sister. 
When  Philip  explained  matters  and  asked  their  consent 
to  make  Dora  his  wife,  their  delight  knew  no  bounds, 
and  there  was  more  kissing  and  hugging. 

"I  have  always  wanted  you  for  a  son,"  said  the  old 
man,  "  but  lately  I  had  despaired  of  getting  you.  Lord, 
how  things  do  turn  out,  I  feel  like  a  schoolboy.  I  should 
like  to  throw  up  my  hat  and  holler,  *  Hurrah  V  " 


229 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

CONCLUSION. 

Christmas  Eve,  there  was  a  quiet  wedding  at  the 
Hutchinson  mansion.  Dora  and  her  mother  would 
have  preferred  to  postpone  the  wedding  until  spring 
and  had  a  brilliant  affair  with  a  host  of  pretty  brides- 
maids and  all  the  accessories  usually  attending  the 
wedding  of  the  only  daughter  of  wealthy  parents;  but 
Philip  and  Mr.  Hutchinson  were  opposed  to  such  a 
long  delay,  and  over-ruled  the  objections  to  a  quiet 
wedding. 

Another  thing  Philip  had  insisted  on,  and  that  was, 
the  presence  of  Aunt  Helen  at  the  wedding  ceremony. 
At  first  she  could  not  be  persuaded  to  leave  her  room 
but  when  Philip  convinced  her  that  he  could  carry  her 
down  stairs  so  easily  and  carefully,  that  she  would  be 
as  safe  as  in  her  own  chair,  she  consented,  and  was  the 
most  honored  guest  at  the  wedding.  When  Philip 
carried  her  back  to  her  own  room  that  evening,  he  told 
her  it  was  not  the  last  time  he  should  get  her  out  of  her 
room.  "I  shall  have  you  up  to  my  house  yet,"  he 
said.  But  Aunt  Helen  shook  her  head  doubtfully. 
That  seemed  like  an  impossible  trip  to  the  poor 
invalid. 

There  were  many  comments  made  as  to  the  marriage 
taking  place  so  soon  after  the  tragic  death  of  Harold 
Graham.     "  She  could  not  have  loved  him  very  much," 


230 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

they  said.  But  Dora  and  Philip  did  not  allow  these 
criticisms  to  interfere  with  their  happiness. 

The  New  Year  found  them  settled  in  their  new  home, 
greatly  to  the  delight  of  Josie,  who  had  learned  to  love 
her  beautiful  sister-in-law  dearly. 

Dora  was  especially  kind  and  indulgent  to  the  dear 
old  man,  who  looked  upon  his  new  daughter  as  some 
bright,  beautiful  creature  from  another  sphere,  and 
worshipped  her  with  as  much  awe  and  devotion  as 
though  she  were  a  young  goddess. 

Dora  and  Philip  insisted  upon  their  parents  and 
Aunt  Helen  making  their  home  with  them  during  the 
summer,  so  the  house  in  the  city  was  closed  in  the  early 
spring,  and  they  came  to  live  in  the  lovely  suburban 
residence  of  their  children.  Philip  had  an  invalid's 
carriage  made  for  Aunt  Helen.  It  was  small  and  of 
light  weight,  so  she  could  propel  and  steer  it  herself. 
She  broke  down  and  cried  like  a  child  when  Philip 
presented  it  to  her,  and  her  first  trip  around  the  garden 
was  a  joy  almost  beyond  belief. 

14  Oh,  to  be  on  God's  earth  once  more !"  she  exclaimed, 
with  streaming  eyes.  "I  am  a  shut-in  no  longer,  and 
I  owe  it  all  to  Philip."  She  and  dad  were  inseparable 
companions,  and  most  of  their  time  was  spent  out  in 
the  gardens  among  the  flowers  and  birds. 

One  day  Wallace  Dunlap  sought  Philip,  and  asked 
for  his  sister's  hand  in  marriage.  "  Once  I  asked  a  great 
favor  of  you  which  you  granted,  and  made  a  man  of  me,M 
he  said.  "Now,  I  ask  a  greater  favor;  let  me  be  your 
brother-in-law  as  I  have  long  been  in  heart."  The  re- 
quest was  granted,  and  the  following  fall  there  was 

231 


FROM  OUT  OF  THE  WEST. 

another  wedding,  this  time  at  Philip's  home,  and  Josie 
left  to  preside  over  a  home  of  her  own. 

Dora  and  Philip  never  mention  the  name  of  Violet 
Devereaux  between  them,  but  every  spring  Dora  visits 
a  lonely  grave  in  Greenwood. 

The  inscription  upon  the  tall,  white  marble  shaft, 
reads: 

Violet  Devereaux, 
Age  25. 

The  grave  is  covered  with  violets,  planted  by  the 
loving  hand  of  the  woman  made  happy  through  the 
dying  confession  of  the  beautiful,  erring  woman,  resting 
beneath  the  sod. 


The  End. 


IB  32947 


M256063 


THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


